


Souls In Creation

by Dragonfruit112



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Was Raphael (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cherub!Crowley, Crowley used they/them pronouns at first, Ha betcha didn't see that coming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Questionable Angel Lore, Seraph!Aziraphale, True Angel Forms, crowley loves kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:04:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonfruit112/pseuds/Dragonfruit112
Summary: They knew each other before the Fall. They loved each other before the Fall. They were creation's first soul mates. But the Fall changed everything, and now Aziraphale is forced to live in a world where only he remembers their shared past. Burdened by pain and grief, he hides himself under the guise of a clumsy Principality until he can make his love remember once more. Only, he doesn't know how long that'll take.





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey boys and girls and those inbetween. Guess who was inspired to write after years of not writing a blasted thing? Thiiisss guuuyyyy. This was supposed to be a one shot, I swear. But I started writing and suddenly there were like 5000 words and I wanted to write even more and it just kept snowballing and agh. Anywho, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Unbeta'd, any mistakes are because I'm a sad college student who's a science major and not an English major. I also have no clue how to make footnotes?? Let me know of any mistakes and I'll fix em!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 8/26/19: The Seraphim/Cherubim plural spelling issue has been fixed (I think XD) -- I finally found the time to go through and redo it! Thanks everyone who let me know!

Aziraphale loved acting. Watching other people do it, and do it well, was a favorite pastime of his. He’d since lost count of all the plays and shows he had attended -- many of which with Crowley beside him (many, if not _all_ , now that he thought about it, barring those from the 19th century, which the snake had since almost slept entirely through. Which was good, considering the angel’s rather... interesting relationship with a certain poet and playwright). Watching the humans get wrapped up in their roles and quite willingly lose themselves completely in the act was always a wonder to see. 

It was also fun watching people display their knack for acting offstage as well, Aziraphale thought. Humans had a habit of pretending to be someone their not, either to fool others or to fool themselves. As an angel, Aziraphale could always see right through them, though more often than not he liked to indulge their tenacity and would usually just go with it. 

Aziraphale liked to think he was also a good actor. Perhaps one of the best. Maybe even _the_ best, considering he’d been fooling quite literally everyone since close to the very beginning. 

Though perhaps, he thought to himself on more than one occasion, maybe he wasn't _quite_ acting anymore. Ask him about 9000 years ago what he thought about being a clumsy, soft bookshop owner with a demon as a lover and an infatuation with food and classical music and he might’ve asked you what a bookshop even was* before smiting you on the spot for such a heinous question. And yet, things were so different back then. _He_ was so different back then. 

* _Bookshops had yet to be invented. Same could be said for books, writing, and even a comprehensible spoken language for anything but ethereal beings -- but for the sake of the story, we’ll pretend there was.*_

Technically, Aziraphale hadn’t even existed.

* * *

“What are those supposed to be?”

A voice startled him from the daze he’d felt himself slip into for however long he’d been sitting there -- which could either have been a very short amount of time or a very long amount, as time wasn’t quite a concept yet. He looked up and glanced over his shoulder, lowering one of his many wings so he could see whoever had spoken. 

A younger angel stood behind him, red fiery hair and eyes that glowed a yellow brighter than the sun that had yet to be invented. Black wings sprouted from their back that shown with an iridescence he’d never seen -- and if they’d been created yet he might’ve related the glowing and dimming rainbow of flecks and spots in his feathers to stars. 

The Cherub, or at least he thought they were a Cherub -- he really needed to start paying more attention to other angel’s affairs -- was looking at him almost expectantly before he remembered he’d been asked a question.

“Oh!” He shuffled away slightly, waving a hand to beckon the other to sit next to him. “These are supposed to be _trees_ . The Almighty’s tasked me with creating plants for the new world, you see. Didn't quite tell me _what_ exactly plants were supposed to be so I’ve just kind of... well.. _Winged it_.” He chuckled lightly at his own joke. The Cherub looked up at him with a strange expression from his side, their glittery wings tucked neatly behind them. He curled his numerous wings behind the other and they settled against the plethora of feathers comfortably.

“Must be pretty important, these plants, if the Almighty’s asked one of the _Seraphim_ to do it,” If he didn't know any better, he’d have thought the Cherub sounded huffy. As it was, all angels could sense emotions -- and he could tell the other was just making conversation. “You never see any of your lot doin’ the dirty work really. Just singing Her praises and all that.”

“Well, I’ve quite rather enjoyed this job. See look,” He pointed to a nearby plant, a small thing with little purple petals and broad green leaves. “And this one here--” Here he gently stroked a large flower with bright red petals and a yellow spear like stem in the center. He gestured excitedly to another nearby plant, this one more of a tree with long branches and fern-like leaves, “Oh I’m quite proud of this one, watch!” He ran a finger down one of the leaves and they both watched as the petals closed themselves. The Cherub wore a look of fascination on their face now, and he felt a warm feeling blossom in his chest. 

Now, he was a Seraph and therefore one of the highest ranking angels around -- this meant that one of his jobs was to keep Heaven in order. Of course, the rules and jobs had been made by the Almighty, but it was his job to enforce them. He didn't enjoy his job all that much. The other angels, especially those Archangels, were more often than not just a bit too much for him. He much preferred to keep to himself, it was much quieter and peaceful that way. He suspected the Almighty knew this and took at least some pity on him and gave him his current task of _plant making_. Lies hadn't been invented yet, so he truly was telling the truth when he said he enjoyed it. He got to keep to himself and create things that will, in the future, benefit the lives of others (or so the Almighty had told him). 

He didn't feel quite so overwhelmed with this other angel, however. Something about them put him at ease, something about the other’s aura that just _resonated_ with him. 

So he felt nervousness for the first time in his existence when he opened one of his many mouths to ask next, “Would you uhm... Would you like to help?”

Those bright, almost blinding, _beautiful_ eyes blinked up at him, “Help you make plants?”

He fumbled, “Well if you--that is if you wanted to, or if you weren't busy or--”

“I’d love to,” The Cherub grinned brightly, and he felt a tightness in his chest before it loosened and all he felt was warmth, happiness, _love_.

So they’d settled again, creating flowers and shrubs and trees out of the existence around them. He’d never seen an angel so creative and bright in their ideas -- he probably would never have come up with the idea to create plants that would grow along what would soon be called the ground, or flowers that would blend in with the others around them instead of pop out in bright colors for attention. They’d had a lovely time coming up with a type of tree that would produce what would soon be called fruit -- _oh_ the different kinds of fruit that Cherub had come up with was brilliant. He’d figured that apples were his favorite at the time, they came in all sorts of beautiful colors. 

Time could not describe how long they sat together and created, but it wasn't until they were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of plants that the Cherub was called away once more. They’d stood hesitantly, the glow in their eyes dimming slightly with a sad expression. Immediately he sought to brighten their light with every fiber of his being. 

“Do I have to go?” They’d grumbled, their speckled wings shuffling.

He frowned at the question -- questioning the orders of the Almighty? Unheard of -- yet he could sympathise. He’d very much enjoyed the presence of the other and almost shivered now that their warmth was gone from his side. His heart ached with something he didn't understand. 

“I’m afraid so, my dear. But don't fret, I won't be far. Heaven’s not so large, I’m sure we’ll find each other again.”

* * *

And they did. The Cherub had returned quite quickly in fact, as soon as they’d finished whatever duties were required of them. Though surprised to see them again so soon, he’d been happy nonetheless. 

They spent their time like that for quite a while -- with the Cherub being called away for regular duties and assignments and returning as soon as they could. When the Seraph had finished creating all the plants he could, they both spent their time simply basking in the vastness of simple existence together. The longer this went on, the more he felt a sense of longing and emptiness when the Cherub was gone that was only remedied when they returned to his side. Being with the Cherub gave him a sense of wholeness, and when he’d expressed this to the other, they’d told him they felt the same way. Their combined happiness and joy had been so bright that a few passing angels had come to investigate, only to leave in vague confusion and disinterest. 

He’d been fiddling around with a few creations one time, trying to understand what dirt and soil and the like were supposed to be, when he felt a familiar presence glide down beside him and a satisfying fullness return to his soul. He turned to see his Cherub -- _his Cherub_ \-- rush forward and take the nearest of his many hands. 

“What’s got you so bubbly?” He asked, not that he was complaining.

A happy, almost proud smile was lightning up their face, “The Almighty’s asked me to create something called stars. _Me_ personally.”

He felt his heart nearly overflow at the other’s gushing joy and brought them closer to curl his many wings around them, “Oh, my dear, that’s wonderful. Explain them to me?”

As they chattered on about stars and solar systems and planets, he finally began to understand the significance of the Cherub’s wing patterns. They were destined to create the physical universe, to paint the vast emptiness of space with their creative being. He knew they would create something no one had seen before, something beautiful, something special. 

And they did. While it almost pained him to be away from the other for such long periods of time (which still hadn’t technically be invented yet), he couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly proud as he watched as the stars were hung. What used to be simple emptiness and _being_ was springing to life in an array of light and colors he hadn’t thought possible before, and he blessed his Cherub’s creative soul for what felt like the hundredth time. 

They would return to him periodically, covered in stardust and slightly dishevelled but still glowing nonetheless. They would point to star clusters above them and tell him about them, what they were and what they meant and their names. That was a new one; names were quite a new thing that everyone was still getting used to. Some angels had even began to name themselves, like Michael and Morningstar. He hadn't quite figured one out for himself yet. Afterwards, they would sit together in silence, basking in the new light around them, before his Cherub would have to leave once more.

It was during these intermediate absences that he found himself among his plants once more, gazing between his creations and the other’s. He picked up one of the small, purple ones -- one of the first he’d made and the first he’d shown to his Cherub -- when an idea struck him. Reaching up, he plucked a few stars into his hands before placing them into the petals. The flowers were now covered in white glowing spots, and he smiled to himself. 

He showed his Cherub his newest creation the next time they came, noting proudly how they’d resembled their wings in all their beauty, before all of his eyes* blinked in surprise at the color spreading across the other’s main, most visible face. A color not unlike that of their hair. 

* _All five thousand of them, even the weird glowey, fiery ones.*_

“A-are you alright?” He managed to ask before being quite suddenly knocked over. The amount of love and joy suddenly barraging his senses was somewhat overwhelming, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from the Cherub who’d decided they’d do the universe’s first impression of an ethereal octopus. Without words, he returned the other’s embrace, happy his latest creation had garnered such a reaction.

And so, the blush and act of hugging had thus been created. 

* * *

He had not chosen his own name, now that names were officially a “thing”. In fact, it was his Cherub, his love, who’d bestowed it upon him. 

They’d come back from hanging a new group of planets quite roughly, at one point. He’d watched in confusion as those iridescent speckled wings flapped strangely down to him, dropping them nearby with none of the grace and care they usually carried themselves with. 

He rushed over in panic -- a new emotion for him -- and knelt beside his love, his numerous hands gliding over their form in shaky, skittery movements. 

“What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

They grunted in pain below him, “Flew straight into an asteroid, I’m afraid. Clipped a wing.”

Indeed, as his numerous eyes were drawn to the appendages, he could see that one of them wasn't quite right. Bent and broken and only just barely functioning, he wondered how they’d even been able to fly back to him. 

He let out a quick breath, “Alright, easy fix. Here we go.” Before the other could get out a reply, he drew a few of his hands over the broken feathers. A low, glowing warmth spread across the wing, pleasant and comforting as he poured his love into it. Though the bones cracked and groaned as they were put back together, there was no pain. 

As soon as it had begun, he lifted his hands away to reveal the healed wing underneath as if it hadn't been broken at all. His Cherub unfurled it and flapped it a few times to test it, a growing look of wonder and adoration growing on their faces.

“You healed it.” They breathed, and it was his turn to blush.

“Oh, it was nothing, really.”

They turned to him with a blinding smile, hands coming up to cup his main face, “You healed me. My healer. _Raphael_.”

* * *

Something was happening. He could feel it. 

The two of them had been gliding amongst the stars, Raphael watching the grace and elegance his Cherub wielded as they created a new star system with practiced ease, when something had shifted. He could feel himself being called back to Heaven, something deep and wrenching in his soul. His six wings had come screeching to a stop, the other coming to glide beside him in confusion. Perhaps they’d felt it too.

They were back in Heaven in the blink of an eye, only to be surrounded by angels in a panic. He was overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of emotions suddenly coming at him. Sure, he might have gotten used to the quiet and silence away from everyone but his Cherub, but this wasn't usual. This was pandemonium and chaos Heaven hadn't experienced yet. He extended himself outwards, startling some of the nearby angels with the sudden presence of a _Seraph_ , and in the momentary surprise-caused-calm he inquired what was happening.

“Angels are rebelling!” A Virtue nearby cried, “The others have called for war!”

“ _War_?” His mind could barely comprehend. War in heaven? Rebelling angels? “Whatever for?”

A Principality was holding a sword* nervously, “For questioning the Almighty and disobeying orders. Morningstar’s apparently got them all in a tiff.”

_* Weapons, it seemed, had only recently been created for this very moment.*_

“What a wanker,” His Cherub grumbled beside him, earning themselves a reprimanding wack from one of his wings.

He sighed, “I’m quite sure fighting isn't the answer here. There’s probably a go--” Whatever questionable wisdom he’d been about to share was suddenly cut off by a flood of new emotions washing over the lot of them. This was something he’d never felt before, something dark and frightening and almost painful. He himself didn't have a name for it until the words came to him like a soft voice whispering in his ear; _Anger. Wrath. Hatred._

With the sensations came flood of angels, and he and the others around him were suddenly thrown into the throws of war. With weapons of their own designs, the rebelling angels ruthlessly began slaughtering those still loyal to the Almighty. The others fought back, just as brutally as their adversaries, and he watched as golden blood spilled across existence for the first time. 

Unable to sit and watch his kin be murdered, he rushed forward and picked up the now deceased Principality’s sword. Instantly bright and holy flame that matched the fire in a few of his circling eyes curled around it’s blade. With his mighty wings stretched out wide, Raphael fought alongside the others. He kept half his eyes on the battle and the other half on his Cherub, though the tugging in his soul told him they were always nearby. Both refused to stray far from each other. 

The fight seemed to stretch on forever before the remaining rebelling angels retreated to regroup. Raphael took this time to survey the damage around him. Dead and dying angels lay scattered, golden blood leaking from wounds and staining the ether. He did his best to heal those he could, before returning to his Cherub’s side. 

They were looking around with a look of pure horror, and Raphael felt his insides ache and the dimness of their eyes. 

“My love?” He breathed, coming close and wiping off the golden stains that marred one of their faces. 

Those blazing eyes turned towards him, “How could the Almighty let this happen?” Their voice was small. “ _How_ _could_ \--”

Raphael winced before wrapping his wings around the other, embracing them as they’d done so many times before, “Best not to question the Almighty, love.” But he knew they could sense his uncertainty as well. They didn't comment on it.

The war continued as other angels were joining in for both sides, and soon every angel had joined the battle. The few other Seraphim had joined in not long after Raphael, and he was slightly relieved to see that none of them had joined the other side. That would be a nightmare (as if it already weren't). The fighting had dragged on and on and on until Raphael thought the first rivers would run gold before there was a sudden, deep, soul-crushing _crack_ and the very existence beneath their feet fell away to complete darkness. 

The fighting stopped just long enough for everyone to fall silent before the darkness reached towards them and the screaming began. All those who’d rebelled were being dragged downwards, their forms becoming distorted as they were consumed by fire and ash. Those who had remained loyal stood untouched, and Raphael knew what was happening.

The Almighty was reaping judgement.

A sudden tug on his soul brought him back to the present, and he looked around wildey for his Cherub. He spotted them not far away, grappling with an opponent as they struggled not to be brought down as well. The other angel spat and clawed at his Cherub’s being, and since the Darkness could not grab just one, it grabbed both, and Raphael gasped in horror. As they both began to fall, he dove after them in a panic. No, no, no, no, _no_! This couldn't be happening, his Cherub wasn't on the wrong side, they’d been fighting for Good, they didn't deserve to be brought down just because they’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time!

Wings flapping furiously and losing more and more feathers the faster and farther down he flew, he finally caught up to them and wrapped himself around his Cherub. The other angel fell away from sight, leaving just the two of them in a freefall. Try as he might, something was preventing Raphael from flying them out of there.

“Darling, I-I can't--!” He gasped, a painful fire beginning to burn at his insides. 

His Cherub cupped one of his faces, blazing eyes boring into him, “Leave me, get yourself out!”

Anger washed over him for the first time, “I’m _not_ leaving you!” The fire was beginning to become unbearable now.

“You _must_ , my angel. I’ll not have you burn because of me!” Ignoring the searing pain lacing through their veins, they reached behind them to pluck out a single, speckled feather. Raphael watched as they placed it in one of his wings, in turn taking one of his shimmering white ones and replacing the now missing feather in their own wing. “I’ll come find you, after this. I promise you, my angel, I _will_.” Raphael could do nothing as hands were placed on him, and he watched his Cherub grimace with effort.

“No... No, love, please! Wait--” But his words were ignored as suddenly those hands pushed him away and _up_ . He watched his love fall farther and farther away before disappearing completely. He flew up and up and up and up and suddenly he was out of the darkness, slamming onto solidness before growing still. The previous flames that had threatened to consume him were slowly fading, leaving behind an even worse emptiness that clawed at his insides and left him feeling hollow. For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, he wasn't able to sense his Cherub. Even if they were up in the stars, millions of lightyears away, he was still always able to vaguely sense them. Now, however, there was nothing. A large gaping hole in the middle of himself that even he couldn't heal.

Honestly, he preferred the fire over this.

So he lay there, alone and empty, and curled into himself. An agonizing wail escaped him as he forced himself smaller, tucking in his wings and faces and arms and squeezing all of his many eyes shut in hopes that he could possibly make himself disappear. Sleep didn't exist quite yet, but that didn't stop him from hoping that this had all just been one large nightmare and that he’d soon open his eyes to see his love sitting nearby -- covered in stardust and looking excitedly at their newest creation. The more and more he anguished, the smaller he became, his very essence folding in on itself until he was left with just one pair of wings and a few sets of arms, limbs, and heads. 

An angel found him later, after however long it had been, and approached his hunched form. 

“Hey, you!” 

Raphael barely had the energy to look up at whoever was talking.

“Why are you just sitting around, don't you know everyone’s been called back?” This angel’s voice was grating slightly on Raphael’s ears, though he couldn't exactly pick out why. Everything was a little fuzzy at the moment. After getting no response to his question, the angel sighed in annoyance, “Fine then. Who are you anyway, we’re trying to figure out all who’s left.”

Did the angel not recognize him? 

He struggled to sit up and make his mouth cooperate, “Ah...” He sighed though his teeth, the sound coming out sharp. “Raph.. ael..”

The other angel frowned, “A... Azi...raphale? Aziraphale? Huh, never heard of you before. Are you new?”

It was Raphael’s turn to frown. That wasn't right, that wasn't what he said. Though, now that he thought about it... His love had chosen his name for him, and now that they were... now that they were gone, he didn't know if he wanted the others to keep using it. He didn't like the pain that train of thought brought with it, so he simply nodded blankly. When his Cherub came back like they said they would, he would change it back. They’d understand. 

“Ah, bad time to be created, you know. Right in the heat of battle -- yikes. Alright then, what’s your rank?”

Raphael -- or Aziraphale for now, he guessed, became even more confused. It wasn't easy confusing a Seraph of all creatures with anything else. A certain power and grace radiated from them that was hard to miss. It also helped to have six wings, numerous heads, and thousands of eyes staring at you as well. 

He looked down at himself and was startled to find he looked slightly different than he’d last remembered. He realized he’d sunken so into himself in his sadness that he was practically unrecognizable now. This was fine, he thought. He couldn't imagine himself doing any Seraphic duties with the clawing, empty pain gnawing at his heart at the moment. So in a slight fit of selfishness, he answered the angel.

“P-principality.” His voice had grown small and hoarse from all his screaming.

The other angel nodded and forced him to stand on shaky legs, “Alright then, Principality Aziraphale. Let's get you back with the others. You seem a bit out of it so we’ll see if we can’t find Raphael to take a look at you. He’s a great healer you know, though no one’s been able to find him since the Battle.”

Aziraphale kept his mouths shut. 

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to fall into the role of the Principality Aziraphale. Though he did feel a bit guilty as the other angels panicked at the sudden disappearance of Raphael, a bloody _Seraph_ of all creatures, but the pain and emptiness had yet to go away so he kept his mouths shut and his heads down. Heaven was quite literally in shambles after the Battle, and many angels were confused on what to do next. The rest of the Seraphim became somewhat distant, many of the Cherubim had been ones to Fall, and the Archangels jumped at the chance for leadership -- the _hounds_. 

Time went on, as _finally_ , the Almighty had seen fit to invent it, and soon the Earth was created and Aziraphale was sent down to guard a nice little place called Eden. The Archangels had given him little in the way of orders besides _“Protect the two humans, don't let in any demons, oh and don't lose your sword.”_ to which he’d given them somewhat of a confused look. _Demons? You mean those that Fell, why would we need to kill them?_

The Archangels had given him quite the ‘higher-than-thou’ sneer with their answer. _“So they can't kill you first. Unless that’s what you’re going for, then we’d be perfectly happy to send down someone more capable.”_

_Why would they try and kill us, their brothers and sisters?_

_“Part of the whole Falling business was that the Almighty’s messed with their memories. They don't remember who they were Before, they don't deserve to, and they don't remember who we were to them. Which I mean is fine with us, why would we want to be associated with the likes of them anymore? You should know this, haven't you been listening?”_

He hadn't. Rather, he’d been focusing elsewhere, trying to find any trace of his Cherub in the Universe to no avail. Of course, he didn't say as much, instead opting to just nod and smile before heading down to solid atmosphere. 

Earth was a little strange, as was inhabiting a body with only two arms, two eyes, one head, and two wings. At first he’d felt slightly cramped but had quickly gotten used to the feeling -- if anything, the cramped feeling helped him deal with the ever present empty gnawing. 

So when said empty gnawing suddenly lightened to an only slightly less annoying pressure accompanied by an unfamiliar bitter taste on the back of his tongue, it was fairly easy to notice. He’d gasped and clutched at his chest, almost dropping his flaming sword in surprise before coming back to himself in time. It wouldn't do to set Eden on fire. And yet he knew this feeling. _They_ were nearby, finally on the same plane of existence as he was -- _finally_ . He’d nearly dropped everything he was doing to follow the feeling before catching himself, remembering the words of the Archangels. _They won't remember you._

His hands had quivered as he tightened his grip around his sword. It was alright, he would wait for his Cherub to come to him. They’d remember him, they had to, and he’d prove the others wrong. 

It wasn't until the Third day of Eden’s creation that he finally found them -- or rather, a serpent. It slithered right by him as he was sitting upon a rock admiring a tree, reminiscing about its creation eons ago. Something about it’s black, iridescent scales struck something in Aziraphale, yet it wasn't until he saw the one pearly white scale amongst the black that he sprung to his feet. The serpent had whipped around at the noise, and if those eyes hadn't been both split down the middle with a serpentine pupil, they would’ve been his Cherub’s. 

Yet, Aziraphale slowly felt his heart fall to his feet as they looked into each other's eyes. There was no recognition in the other’s, just cold detachment. Nothing about this creature except the vague feeling of wholeness reminded Aziraphale of his Cherub, and if it wasn't for said feeling he wouldn’t have believed that this was his love at all. 

_They don’t recognize me. They don’t know who I am, who I was, who_ we _were..._

The angels were right. 

But as Aziraphale had been telling himself since the fall, it was fine. This was fine. He could make this work. He would make them remember. 

He had to.

“Go. Go on, shoo,” He croaked halfheartedly, waving his hands in a vague motion to get the snake to keep moving. The serpent hissed once before slithering off, and Aziraphale slunk back onto the rock to sulk.

* * *

“Well that went down like a lead balloon.”

The achingly familiar voice, one that he hadn't heard in so _so_ long, had caused him to pause any immediate response he could think of. His soul ached and burned and twisted. He looked over at the now fairly human form, one that -- barring the lack of extra heads, eyes, and mouths -- resembled that of his former (Aziraphale could feel himself choking) love.

“I'm.. I'm sorry?”

They turned their head to look at him, unimpressed, “I _said_ , that went down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale nodded and grumbled in vague agreement. He couldn't bare to keep looking at that painfully familiar form so he cast his gaze out into the desert, watching as Adam and Eve made their way into the world. 

The demon took a breath, “Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything.”

Wouldn't be the first time.

“Y'know... I don't really see what's so wrong with knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.”

This made Aziraphale turn once more, looking over in astonishment. Such words from a demon were unheard of, and yet his love had always been a questioner. 

“W-well,” He fumbled over his words, not knowing how to respond to that. _Best not to question the Almighty, love_ . “It must _be_ bad... Ah..”

Blast it all, _my love_ had almost slipped past his tongue. It wouldn't do to have to explain that to them, not when they didn't remember.

However, the demon took his pause with another meaning, “ _Crawley_.”

Oh. They’d given themselves a name. 

He nodded a bit shakily, “C-crawley. Otherwise you... Your lot wouldn't have sent you up here.”

Crawley simply shrugged, “Oh, they just said get up there and make some trouble. Could’ve done a lot worse, really.” Their face scrunched up dramatically, “Not very subtle of the Almighty, though; putting a fruit tree in the middle of the Garden with a ‘ _Don't Touch_ ’ sign.”

Ah yes. Suffice to say, Aziraphale hadn’t been very happy to find out what had happened to the apple tree. What had once been one of his favorite of his Cherub’s creations had been twisted and turned into an object of temptation. He rather disliked apples now. 

Crawley had continued rambling on about forbidden trees and moons, with Aziraphale being compelled to comment something about the Almighty’s favoritism towards the ineffable, but in truth his attention was elsewhere. His eyes had been drawn to the side, landing on the single gleaming white feather amongst the dark charcoal of Crawley’s wings. Said demon had paused to follow his gaze, grimacing to themselves before drawing their wings closer to their body and hiding the feather from sight.

“Ignore that. No idea where it came from but nothin’ I do makes it go away,” They sounded slightly put off at the change in conversation and Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to comment on it. The demon frowned however, “You’ve got one too, y'know that?”

Aziraphale looked down at his own wings, the singular stary black feather standing out against the white almost blindingly. “Oh.. yes well..” He took a deep breath, now was his chance to see if he could bring any memories back! “Actually, I got mine from y--”

“Lit y’self on fire with that flaming sword, ey?” The demon cut him off, smiling so mischievously and brightly that their face lit up and softened their sharp features in such pureness that Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to reprimand them for the interruption. 

He stumbled an answer, “What, n-no I--”

The demon looked down and around, “Say, were is it anyway?”

“What?” He couldn't keep up at this point.

“The _sword_. I saw it, it was flaming like anything!” He pursed his lips together, half inclined not to answer at all. “Lost it already, have you?”

Well, that wouldn't do. He wouldn't _lose_ his sword, he’s not that daft. “Gave it away.”

“You _what_?”

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale couldn't believe he was whining but he was. Not like he could stop now, words pouring from his mouth like a waterfall as he gave his explanation. Both their gazes were drawn to the two figures in the distance, and suddenly thunder crashed overhead. 

The demon winced as the first raindrop hit their nose, and Aziraphale really couldn't help himself as he lifted his wing up and over them. They looked grateful -- though they’d never admit it -- as they ducked under his feathers, inching closer to him unconsciously to get as far away from the rain as possible. 

Aziraphale sighed, ignoring the urge to rub his chest to try and ease the pain he knew wouldn't go away. He’d get them to remember eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm really messing with angelic lore here. Cause I can. Cause it's fun. I know it's incorrect, but hey, its whatever right? Anywho, yeah -- I have the final chapter completely written, I just... need to write the middle parts. Which shouldnt be too hard I hope? Should be out within the next couple days, hopefully. Maybe. eh.
> 
> Thanks for reading, toodles!


	2. On Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two different periods of time, so hopefully y'all dont get confused. I would've made them a separate chapter each, but they were both just way too short and I couldn't bring myself to make them longer TT.TT Let me know if y'all think it would make it better to have them separated, tho

**Unknown Place; Unknown Time**

Humanity took its time getting settled and spreading across the globe. Honestly it was taking _ages_ but ethereal beings were as patient as could be most of the time, so everyone just let it be really. Truth be told, all of this was like mere seconds to Aziraphale, who’d been around since the very beginning. Besides, if being charged with looking over the humans meant sitting around doing nothing for centuries upon centuries, he wasn't really complaining. 

Currently, there were maybe just a few hundred humans walking the Earth, still trying to figure out just what it was they were here for and why. After the whole debacle with the first family (the murder and all that, poor Abel), Aziraphale no longer really felt the need to keep a _direct_ eye on every single person every single day. So instead he found himself wandering quite a lot. He wasn't around for the Earth’s creation -- it hadn't been one of his Cherub’s, of course, as the Almighty herself had created it instead -- so this was completely new territory for him. 

He walked until his feet brought him to a massive body of water, impassable at the moment without the aid of wings that he didn't really want to bring out at the moment. So instead, he turned around and kept walking. He kept telling himself that he was exploring, just getting to know the area that he was going to be living in for the foreseeable future. He only managed to convince half of himself of that. The other half knew for a fact that he was trying to walk off the pain in his chest, the ache that being so close to his love yet so far brought. 

He could always sense Crawley, no matter where he went. The feeling was muddled and muted, so he wasn't able to pinpoint where exactly they were at a given time, just that they were simply on Earth. That in itself should've been a comfort, and he was grateful to have at least some wholeness to his soul back -- really he was --, but that still didn't keep the pain away. 

Currently, Aziraphale found himself sitting on a tall dune in the middle of a desert. His feet had begun to run raw with all his walking, so come nightfall he’d simply plopped down where he was standing. The chilly night desert wind stung his face and he squinted his eyes against the sand but found that this was a rather nice place to be at the moment. This was due completely to the view overhead.

Millions and millions and millions of stars stretched across the night sky, unmarred by clouds and untouched by the light of the moon. As Aziraphale sat there gazing up, he found that he could identify every single star by memory. For a while, he let himself be caught up in his thoughts, in the memories of flying through solar systems with his Cherub. If he thought hard enough he could almost imagine the sand scraping is face was not sand at all but instead stardust, and that the wind coursing through his hair was brought on by his wings and not the Earth. That his Cherub was the presence that had taken the seat right beside him and not--

Hang on.

Aziraphale drew his eyes away from the sky and looked over at the being beside him. How could he not notice a whole person approaching him? He’d have to remember next time to be more alert.

“Hello Crawley,” Aziraphale murmured politely, unable to bring himself to speak any louder in the silence of the night. The demon simply hummed in response, their gaze not falling away from the sky in a way that Aziraphale had been not seconds ago. The Angel also couldn't bring himself to draw the demon’s attention away, so he said no more and simply looked up again as well. 

They sat like that for some time, watching the stars as the moon moved further and further towards the horizon. 

“I made a few of those, you know?” Crawley’s soft voice broke the revere between them, and Aziraphale drew his eyes towards the demon once more. “Before the Fall. Was in charge of a couple solar systems.”

Aziraphale felt tired, more tired than he’d ever been.

“Did you, now?”

“Mhm,” Crawley nodded, pointing up at a cluster. “That one there. Alpha Centauri. Pretty proud of that one. And there, the Pleiades, and Antares.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly, noting to himself that all the names of systems and stars that Crawley listed off were made when Crawley had been by themselves, without Aziraphale there with them at the time of their creation. 

“That one there... Damn, I can't remember the name. I swear it’s on the tip of my tongue...” Crawley furrowed their brows in concentration, and Aziraphale looked up to where they were pointing. 

“Polaris,” He croaked, quickly clearing his throat. He’d been there with them only at the beginning of it’s creation, not when it was finished. 

Crawley looked over at him, surprise lightning their eyes, “Yeah. Say, you wouldn't happen to be the other star maker would you? I mean, _someone_ had to make everything else.”

_It was you, you made_ everything _. It was you and you alone and the only reason you can't remember it all is because I was there with you. Your wings are made of stardust yet you can no longer see it. The feather in my wing just looks black to you._

“I'm afraid not. I’m just a bit of an enthusiast, I suppose,” Aziraphale gave a quick, small smile to try and appease the disappointed look that painted the demon’s face. They quickly wiped it away, however, reluctant to destroy the momentary peace between the two of them.

“Well, if you ever run into whoever made the other stars, do tell them that I’d like a _word_ with them about a certain ‘Super-Saturn’. Blasted planet makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but snort and let out a small laugh. He remembered that. His Cherub had been trying to impress him one of the very first times he’d gone with them up into the stars and got a little too overzealous with this planet’s rings and ended up making too many at once. They could’ve easily brushed them away with a flick of their hands, but the sheer delight and amusement on Aziraphale’s faces had stayed their hand. From then on they’d kept it as a little inside joke, and whenever one of them made any sort of ‘ring’ comment, it never failed to send either of them into peals of laughter, much to the confusion of the other angels.

They spoke some more, with Aziraphale acting as if he didn’t know about the star systems that Crawley was pointing out while he also filled in some of the gaps when the other fell short. They relished in each other's company until the sun was just beginning to threaten to peak over the horizon. 

By then, they’d fallen into compatible silence. Aziraphale had found himself hit with a stroke of courage.

“You know, dear... The reason I know so much about planets is actually because y--”

“What do you suppose is across the ocean, Angel?” Crawley interrupted, with or without meaning to, but that didn't really matter. Aziraphale had felt the courage to try and remind the demon of their past wither and die, the gaping gnawing coming back once more to replace it.

The Angel sighed, “More land, I’d assume. I didn't get a good enough look at the world before I came down.”

Crawley hummed, “I think I’m going to see just what sort of land is over there then. Been bothering me since we left the Garden.”

“Oh. Well, good luck with that.”

Crawley turned to him, raising an eyebrow, “You’re not curious as well?”

Aziraphale shrugged, “I can't say that I’m not but... I’m _supposed_ to be looking after the humans here, you know. I can't abandon that.”

“Oh come off it,” Crawley snorted. “You’ve been watching them just as much as I have. Which is to say, not at all. The humans are fine on their own for a while, they’ll figure life out themselves.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. He’d be lying if he said the thought of exploring the Earth with his Cherub, no matter what form they took, wasn't incredibly appealing. However, who knew who was watching at the moment.

“It wouldn't be a good thing to be seen together, you know. Head Office really doesn't like your lot.”

It was Crawley’s turn to shrug, “Yeah, can't say my bosses like you guys either. Think of it this way; you’ll be thwarting my demonic advances should we come across anything worth tempting. How’s that sound?”

The Angel thought for a moment before a small smile grew across his face, and he sighed as the ache in his chest dulled to just a small tug for the first time in eons.

“Well, if you put it like that... Lead on then.”

* * *

**Egypt; The Plagues**

“Crawley, _get inside!_ ” Aziraphale whispered harshly, rushing forward and tugging the demon away from the doorway. He ignored their noises of protest as he slammed the door shut, locking it before shuffling over to light a few more candles. The room was plunged in a dim light, causing his eyes to strain but he paid it no mind. His hands wrung with nervous energy and he looked around for something to do. Numerous pelts and blankets were strewn about the place, so he began picking them up and folding them neatly.

Crawley watched him putter around, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. Usually, they’d be reluctant to be in such close proximity with the Angel, at least out in the open. Especially in such a place like Egypt, _especially_ right now as so many eyes were drawn upon it. It’d be so easy for them to be spotted together, and they doubted either side would be very happy about that. Even so, it had been them to suggest camping out in the same room together as the Plagues raged through the area. Though neither of them was being physically affected by any of them, that didn't make it any easier. 

They’d found the angel a few days after the Plagues had started, struggling to keep the blood and frogs out of a bucket of water. Crawley could sense the stress pouring off him from their spot a good distance away and approached them out of a tainted form of pity. From there they’d gotten to talking -- something they hadn't really done since the Flood and Noah and all that business -- and quickly retired away as the swarm of lice came crawling. 

Even as a demon, Crawley found themselves uncomfortable with the unfolding events. They were more of a mischief maker than a true evil-doer anyway.

“Would you stop moving for just _one second_ , Angel?” Crawley finally growled, frustrated with watching Aziraphale burn a hole into their floor with all his pacing.

Aziraphale huffed, hunching his shoulders, “I just _can't,_ Crawley. Not when I know what's about to happen.”

“And what is about to happen, anyways?” They hadn't gotten the details really. Downstairs had gone fairly silent during it all. Aziraphale continued to wring his hands, taking deep shaky breaths. Crawley narrowed their eyes and crossed their arms in a vague resemblance of a disappointed mother. “Aziraphale. What. Is going to happen.”

“Oh, Crawley,” Aziraphale practically sobbed, flapping his hands. “Its awful, they’re... They’re _killing_ every firstborn whose family didn't put lambs blood above their door.”

Crawley bared their teeth, a feeling of deja vu washing over them as they remembered the Ark, “Killing kids? Again? What is it with your lot and killing children, for Hell’s sake.”

Aziraphale couldn't help the tears that started sliding down his cheeks, “I tried to talk them out of it, I did! T-they refused to listen to me, told me this was the word of God Herself but _I_ wasn't told anything, not me who--” _Who’s supposed to interpret the will of the Almighty._

“Who what, Aziraphale?” Crawley had drawn closer without Aziraphale noticing. 

The Angel sniffed miserably, “It’s nothing, forget I said anything. Please.” 

If he didn't sound as miserable as he did then, Crawley might've pressed on for an answer. As it was, they let it be. For now. 

“When?”

“Tonight. It’s the last of them if the Pharaoh lets the slaves go but... I just...”

Crawley pursed their lips, looking towards the locked door and boarded up windows. 

No one could see them.

They tutted, opening their arms, “Come here, Angel.” Aziraphale hummed, practically collapsing into their arms as they brought them down to sit nearby. There they let the Angel cry as he tried to siphon through all the despairing emotions coming from the hundreds of people in the city. It didn't take long for Aziraphale to cry himself dry, but they continued to sit together, limbs tangled between them as darkness fell. Crawley could feel their eyelids drooping, a mixture of warmth against their side and the stress from the past few weeks finally weighing down on them. They tried to stay awake, they really did, but before they knew it sleep had taken them.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale stared at the locked door in silence, holding his breath. He could feel the familiar presence of another in the far distance -- a presence he hadn't felt since before the Fall. He shivered at the feeling of it, his own powers aching to be let free. He shuddered, swallowing uncomfortably as he forced it all back down, keeping it under tight lock and key. 

He let Crawley sleep as the presence grew closer and closer, and soon it began passing over them. His breath turned shallow at the wave of despair reaping through the city as families watched their firstborns fall, dead with no preamble. He could hear the cries and sobbing shaking the city walls, and if his hands weren't tangled in the sleeping demon’s robes, he would've covered his ears.

It continued for hours, that all encompassing powerful presence lingering at the edge of his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped nearby. Aziraphale could feel it prodding at him, knowing he could feel it getting his attention. Against his better judgement, Aziraphale rose, gently setting the demon down to rest without waking them. 

He shakily unlocked the door and slipped out, closing it shut tight behind him and walking down the street. He kept his eyes forward, refusing to look at the nearby houses that didn't have any blood above the door that he knew had dead children inside. 

Finally, he made it to a tall building, craning his head up and up to see the figure perched delicately on top of it. Sitting there, almost casually in all it’s bright and terrifying glory, was the Angel of Death. A Seraph, like him -- or like he was. It had toned down it’s form slightly -- less eyes and flames -- but was no less magnificent. 

Aziraphale blew out a shaky breath as it looked down upon him, staring straight through him and into his soul. It knew who and what he was. Without words, he looked up at it almost pleadingly, letting his intentions be known in a way only they could understand. 

They stayed like that in complete silence for a few moments before Aziraphale could feel it reaching out to him. He panicked slightly, afraid it was going to take him back up to heaven and expose him for who he really was, but instead felt it’s grace simply grazed him. He shuddered as it eased the gnawing in his soul, lessening it to a simple dull ache, before retracting once more. Aziraphale stared up at it in surprise, watching as it winked once at him before disappearing upwards in a flash of light. 

Aziraphale returned home later that night after standing in the street for a few hours in a daze. Crawley was still asleep but still mumbled incoherently at him as he settled by their side again. Aziraphale sighed and let himself relax, his chest loose and open for the first time in what felt like centuries (which, really, was true). He didn't sleep, instead watching the steady rise and fall of Crawley’s chest. 

The next day, the Pharaoh relented, and the Plagues were over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not suuuper happy with this chapter but there's really nothing I can do at this point haha. Next chapter should be up soon, thanks for readin'!


	3. So They Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early b/c I need the rest of today to be dedicated to studying TT.TT
> 
> EDIT 8/5/19: Guys! The absolutely amazing artist allthepandasintheworld on tumblr has made some AMAZING fanart for this chapter!! I cannot begin to say how happy I am with it, it looks so beautiful! The link for it is below (if I did it right, still trynna figure things out haha), go check them out (their art is amazing! :D)!  
> https://allthepandasintheworld.tumblr.com/post/186784573954/whew-ok-finally-done-with-this-its-fanart-of/embed

**Pompeii; 79 AD**

There was fire and heat all around him. Burning and choking and suffocating and Aziraphale swore that he was Falling again. His Cherub was in his arms and he tried to shield them from the flames with his wings only to discover they’d been replaced by the fire and flame that was killing them both. 

_ Angel.. _

He could feel them screaming, a terrible noise that shook the universe and shaped mountains. A similar sound bubbled up from his chest as well, and soon all he could think of was the horrible, searing inferno that was taking over his being. 

_ Angel _ .

Nothing else mattered right then except the Angel in his arms as they both Fell together, surrounded by fire and a darkness that was quickly coming up to meet them, promising nothing but pain and misery and anguish but at least they’ll be together and--

“ _ Aziraphale _ ! Angel, bless it,  _ wake up _ !”

Aziraphale woke up with a gasp and a flash of pain on his cheek, sucking in a desperate breath and immediately regretting it as it got stuck in his lungs and caused him to choke. Heat was wrapped around him as he took in his surroundings tiredly. That was the last time he  _ ever _ went to sleep willingly. 

He was surprised to see Crowley perched above him, snake eyes wide and wild, with obvious panic rolling off him* in waves. The room they were in was filled to the brim with smoke and ash, and Aziraphale could detect just a hint of sulfur in the back of his throat.

_ *He was still getting used to referring to Crowley as such. With the name change came a change in pronouns as well, and Aziraphale was doing his very best to say everything right.* _

“W-what’s going on? Did the building catch fire?” He asked blearily, still trying to shake the grips of sleep off of him. 

Crowley leaned away to let the Angel sit up, “Try all the buildings, Angel. Blasted volcano’s gone and exploded -- meaning we need to leave.  _ Now _ .”

Indeed, as Aziraphale wobbled to his feet and slipped on his ratty old sandals, the whole island seemed to shake and groan angrily. The Angel gagged at the sudden overwhelming tide of emotions he could feel coming from the screaming people outside. He did his best not to be overcome by the stabbing feelings of pure fear and terror while also trying not to breathe in the toxic air around them as he and Crowley made their way outside. 

If anything, it was even worse out here -- people were running this way and that, the air was filled with smoke and ash, and an almost unbearable heat was slowly but surely approaching them from the now hidden mountain nearby. Aziraphale felt a hand grab his almost painfully and start dragging him through the streets and toward the water. His feet felt like they were made of lead as he stumbled along, unable to make his brain wrap fully around the situation. It felt like he was wading through water, almost, his thoughts sluggish to make sense of anything and his reactions even farther behind. 

Which was probably why he didn't even flinch when a nearby building was smashed to fiery pieces, a large chunk of molten mountain having landed on it. People around him screamed and cried, even Crowley letting go of his hand briefly to cover his own face from the flames spewing at them. But Aziraphale only blinked and hummed.

Oh that had been his favorite place to eat, they just made the  _ best _ olive bread around that really couldn't compare to anything else. And now it was all just a smouldering pile of wood and stone, what a damn shame.

He looked over just in time to see Crowley bolt off in a random direction, and he felt fear and anger finally spike in his chest as he watched him go. Was he just going to leave him there? How incredibly rude. 

Aziraphale would have followed after the demon, fully intent on reprimanding him for running away like that, but found himself finally grasping just what was going on as his mind began to clear. He was an Angel, and the people around him needed guidance. He shoved off any lingering sluggishness and drew himself up.

“ _ Move _ , everybody,  _ go _ !” He began shouting, stopping the citizens from just running around like headless chickens and directing them towards the shoreline. He ran back towards the thick of the city, wincing as the heat stung his skin but he did his best to ignore it. He started barging into broken and burning houses, trying to encourage the people still inside to leave and save themselves. He managed to convince a few, and those who refused he left behind. It stung him to do so, and he would've liked nothing better than to just pick them up and bring them to safety, but he didn't have time. The lava had reached the city already, consuming anything and everything in it’s path. 

Aziraphale ran through the streets, forcing himself not to look at the houses that he knew still had people inside, fully intent to get onto one of the last boats waiting on the shoreline. However, as he rounded a corner, he came face to face with a certain demon that he thought had already left. 

Crowley looked at him with wide eyes, and Aziraphale froze as he saw the small bundle he had cradled in his arms.

“C-crowley is that a child?!” Aziraphale croaked, his voice cracking from all the smoke he’d been inhaling. His lungs burned and screamed at him and his eyes felt close to boiling. 

Crowley didn't answer him, instead brushing right past him and into a nearby building that remained almost completely untouched. Aziraphale couldn't help but follow, gasping as he stepped inside and saw the small group of children huddled fearfully in the corner. Crowley placed the one he was holding with the others, whispering something almost soothing to them before turning and looking at the Angel still in the doorway, his eyes almost feral.

“ _ Don't _ say anything. If Downstairs got wind of this, they’d come to collect me faster than you can say  _sulphur_.”

Aziraphale swallowed painfully, looking over the group of kids before doing the same with Crowley. It never ceased to amaze him how unlike the other demons Crowley was, and if Aziraphale let himself be a little hopefully every now and then, he would like to think that his Cherub was still in there somewhere. That there was still a chance of him coming back, of remembering what had been lost. He would think of how cruel it was to take away such a beautiful and loving creature, to let something so amazing be tortured and twisted into something that was still somehow inherently  _ Good _ no matter how hard they tried to change it.

“I won't, my dear. No one will know but us,” He whispered, and Crowley’s shoulders sagged in relief. “But really, you all  _ must _ be going now. The city will soon be all in flames, and we are wasting  _ valuable _ running away time.”

* * *

Crowley had opened his mouth to say something in response when suddenly the whole building shook. They had just barely a second before the whole building was coming down around them, a chunk of fiery molten lava having smashed right into it. The children all screamed together, ducking amongst themselves as Crowley jumped to cover them all as best he could. 

He could feel a few bits of ceiling fall and hit his back and he winced, baring his teeth in excursion. However, as he prepared for the entire building to come down upon them, nothing happened. The building still shook some as he peeled his eyes open in confusion, looking around in astonishment. All around them, pieces of broken building were floating in mid air, having been stopped from completely flattening them as if held up by strings. Above them, the ceiling had caved in and Crowley could clearly see the angry ball of lava that had come crashing down -- it too having been frozen in time. A feeling of pure divine energy was poking and prodding at his senses, coming from a strange light in the doorway.

Crowley dragged his eyes over to the source of light and felt his breath catch when he saw Aziraphale standing there, wings out and blue eyes blazing. His hands were braced against the doorframe as he held the building suspended. His form was shaking and his face was scrunched up in either pain or concentration. 

“Angel, you--”

“ _ Go, Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale practically growled, and there was a sucking, tugging feeling on his being as Aziraphale teleported the demon and group of kids away. However, Crowley blinked as he could have sword he saw two extra pairs of wings adoring the Angel’s back, glowing just as bright as the rest before he disappeared. Yet Crowley knew that couldn't be right. Principalities only had one pair of wings. He told himself it was just a trick of the light, a mirage caused by all the smoke and heat. He firmly ignored the annoying sensation poking at the back of his mind, practically screaming at him to remember something he couldn't possibly remember.

His knees groaned as he was dropped onto the rocky shore, the children all falling in a pile at the sudden scenery change. The people still waiting on the last boat stared at them in surprise, unable to comprehend how they weren't there one second and were there the next, but Crowley paid them no mind as he ushered the children onto the boat. By the time the last kid was on board, there was no room for anyone else so he ignored all of their shouting and protests as he pushed the boat into the water. He watched as they sailed away, finally safe and away from the raging volcano, and turned away. 

The ever present feeling of Aziraphale in his soul that he couldn't explain told him the Angel was still in the city. Panic gripped his heart -- of which he’d never, ever admit to -- as he sprinted back into the cloud of ash, running down the well known streets and alleys that had become his home for the past few years and back to the building he’d just been in. A strange sound caught in the back of his throat as he saw it’d been practically obliterated -- the ball of molten lava having been released and crashing into the home as if it hadn't been stopped at all. 

A familiar figure lay on the ground just outside of it, however, crumpled in the streets and covered in ash and pieces of wood. Crowley ran forward, pulling Aziraphale out from under the rubble and tried to shake him back into awareness.

“Dammit Aziraphale, come on!” He snarled, baring his teeth as if it would help, but the Angel was unresponsive. His whole frame was shaking, and though his eyes were still open, his stare was miles away. 

He was mumbling something, and Crowley struggled to hear what over the roaring volcano.

“Can't... let you see...”

“See what?!”

“... _ me _ .”

The Angel was completely delirious, Crowley decided. So as he kept mumbling to himself and shivering, Crowley threw caution to the wind and gathered him into his arms. With a shudder, blank inky wings sprung from his back, the single white feather standing out against his surroundings. The lava and destruction was only feet away from them as Crowley, with a mighty flap of his wings, sent the two of them skyrocketing upwards. Crowley flew them up up up and up but the cloud of smoke billowing from the angry volcano seemed to have no end. Darkness surrounded them, only lit up by flashes of unrelenting white lightning. Crowley’s back ached, his wings struggling to hold the weight of both of them, but he refused to stop. 

Distantly, he saw the smoke part slightly, allowing him to see the sky beyond and a tainted form of hope sprung up in his chest. He flew towards it, baring his teeth and snarling as if his fury would make him fly faster. They’d almost made it, Crowley could practically taste the fresh air, when something slammed into his back. He let out an involuntary shout as he was sent tumbling away, losing his grip on the Angel in his arms. 

The ball of rock and lava sizzled against his back and feathers before evaporating away, as if realizing it’d hit a demon and therefore wouldn't be able to do any damage*.

_ *Fire couldn't hurt a demon. This was why Hellfire was such a popular weapon among them, as well as a popular medium to sit in if one was feeling particularly tense.* _

Crowley watched as if in slow motion as Aziraphale fell away from him, limp and unawares as he hurtled downwards. The demon was struck with a sudden and immense feeling of deja vu, though he had absolutely no clue why. It made his insides crawl and his mind twinge as if he’d eaten an entire helping of wasabi (which had yet to become popular). It was like he’d watched Aziraphale fall from the sky before, being swallowed by the darkness as fire raged around them. But that couldn't be right, that had never happened. 

Crowley shook off the dizzy feeling before tucking his wings in close to his body and diving after the Angel. Air whipped across his face and blew his long red hair back as he dove, reaching out as he got closer and closer until he barreled into Aziraphale’s falling form. The harshness of their impact sent them spiraling, and Crowley grunted as he fought to regain control. He didn't notice as they fell out of the cloud of smoke, too focused on trying to right themselves before they both found themselves being plunged into the deep waters surrounding the island. 

The demon took a moment to figure out which way was up before his head broke the surface, sputtering and spitting and looking around for Aziraphale. He found the Angel floating nearby and swam awkwardly over, grunting as he lay on his back and dragged the still out of it Angel onto his chest, using his wings to keep them afloat in the waters. The calmness of the situation as opposed to the absolute chaos he just went through sent Crowley reeling, and he took a few deep breaths to try and slow his erratically beating heart. 

He realized the danger he was putting himself and Aziraphale in as he wrapped his arms around the Angel’s still shaking form. Anyone from Downstairs or Up could look and see them now and they’d both be punished severely, but he found that at the moment he really didn't care. Crowley sighed as he brushed Aziraphale’s soaked blond curls away from his forehead, and his gaze was drawn to the wings Aziraphale still had out -- more specifically, the pitch black feather still tucked in between the downy white ones. Their wings paralleled each other now, and Crowley couldn't help but line up both of their mismatched feathers so they mirrored each other. Every time he began to think that, hey, maybe Aziraphale’s feather looked like the ones his entire wing was sporting and vice versa, his mind would wander elsewhere, so eventually he gave up the thought.

  
They floated there throughout the night and into some of the next day, Crowley holding Aziraphale all the while as the Angel’s shaking finally --  _ finally _ \-- began to subside until he was completely still. Crowley figured the Angel was going to wake up after that, but instead began to snore quite wetly, and the demon sighed. That was alright -- he could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert that picture of a crying/screaming cat*


	4. In Sickness and In Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... was not supposed to be so large of a chapter. Nor was it supposed to take me this long to write, but I couldnt for the life of me get any writing done yesterday and as soon as I sat down today to write this, it kept getting bigger and bigger and before I know it, I'm having to cut myself short before it got too big XDDD Hope you enjoy!

**London; 1665**

Aziraphale was silent as he washed his hands in the nearby basin, feeling the sharp metallic buzz run up his arms as any leftover sinful sickness was washed away. Unbeknownst to anyone but him, the water that filled the bowl was Holy Water -- he’d blessed it himself. Over the past few decades, Aziraphale had made more Holy Water than he’d ever made before in his entire existence. He’d even been reprimanded about it from a very annoyed looking Gabriel back in 1603, but he couldn't help it. It was one of the only things that completely cleaned off the plague from his skin. It even helped the humans some, decreased the pain of their symptoms, which in all honesty was the main reason he’d been making so much. He really didn't need it for himself -- Angel’s couldn't get sick.

Aziraphale was, first and foremost no matter what form he took, a healer. As soon as the black plague had begun to sweep across England, he couldn't in good conscience just stand aside and let it wipe itself out. When humans started to drop like flies, Aziraphale found himself in churches and quarantined buildings amongst the sick and dying trying to do his best to help. He couldn't cure it -- whether this was due to the illness being of demonic origin or if he just wasn't allowed to -- but he could lessen the pain and ease the passing. 

The Angel hadn't seen or heard from Crowley since seeing him at the Globe in 1601. He’d meant to find the demon afterwards to thank him for Hamlet’s sudden and almost miraculous rise in popularity, but any time he felt himself grow closer to Crowley’s location, the demon would vanish. It was almost as if he was avoiding Aziraphale, but the Angel refused to let his mind linger on that. He didn't know what he would do if Crowley was ignoring him, even the thought made his stomach do unhappy flips. He told himself that the demon was just busy, as they all were these days with so much death going on. 

A noise from the doorway alerted him of another presence in the room, and Aziraphale turned to see one of the young women that was working at the church. The bags under her eyes and shallowness of her cheeks told him she’d been awake for much too long.

“I’m sorry, my dear, did you say something?” He asked quietly, as if speaking any louder would disrupt the momentary peace in the quiet room. 

“The boy brought in yesterday is about to pass, we think. Wanted to know if you’d like to be with ‘im.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. He’d hoped the child would pull through. 

He pulled himself up again, nodding to the girl, “Very well. I’ll take care of him, you go on home now and get some rest.” She nodded at him gratefully as he passed, and he couldn't help but sigh to himself. She would fall sick by the end of the week -- he could smell it on her already. With a slight flick of his fingers he made sure her way home would be pleasant and safe, and that she would sleep easy for perhaps the last time in her short life. It was the least he could do. 

Aziraphale resisted the urge to cough and cover his mouth as he entered the main hall. What had once been a room of worship full of pews and an alter was now lined with beds and linens. Nearly every single bed was taken, groaning and whimpers of pain filling the air and causing an involuntary shiver to crawl up Aziraphale’s spine. Even though this was where he’d been spending the last two months day and night, he still hadn't quite gotten used to the flood of negative emotions that threatened to overwhelm him every time he entered the main hall. It always left a burning, bitter taste on the back of his tongue and the faint twinge of an oncoming headache behind his eyes. 

Walking through the sea of beds, Aziraphale made his way to one in the very back. A seat had already been positioned near the head of it, and he took it while laying his eyes upon the figure it was facing.

The boy was no older than 12, taken off the streets when he’d been found too sick to move in an alleyway behind a bakery. Those who’d found him had thought he was dead at first before hearing his ragged breathing, after which he’d been quickly gathered up and dropped onto the church’s doorstep. Aziraphale wondered if he had any family. If they were still alive, if they were wondering where the boy was. Aziraphale knew the most likely truth, but it couldn't hurt to dream.

“Hello there,” The Angel started out politely. He reached forward and took the boy’s closest hand, trying to avoid the blackening blisters. The child let out a strangled moan of pain that even Aziraphale struggled to hear, and he shushed him gently. “None of that now, lad. You’re not in too much pain. In fact, you’re asleep and dreaming of whatever makes you happiest.” Almost immediately the boy relaxed, his ragged breathing slowing and his previously contorted face falling into one of peace. “You’re somewhere warm, with a fully belly and enough toys to play with to your heart’s content.” 

Aziraphale kept murmuring into the night, well after all the others left and the hall had gone dark save for a few candles nearby. He held the boys hand the whole time, keeping the pain at bay and lessening his shivers each time he felt them begin to rise. He only stopped talking when the child’s breathing stuttered to a stop, and his grip tightened when he felt the boy give one last shiver before his body fell limp. 

Aziraphale felt as if he had entire nations sitting on his shoulders. Such tiredness weighed him down and he felt no need to move from his spot in the chair. He really should get up and go check on the other patients -- ease their aches and pains and try and give them some reprieve during the night -- but he couldn't find it within himself to stand. It was as if his legs were made of lead and bolted to the floor. His vision swam slightly as he leaned back, his hands not leaving the boy’s now stiff ones. 

The last few decades weighed heavily on him -- more than he’d like to admit. Sure he’d been around for previous plagues, sicknesses, and wars throughout the years. They’d steadily gotten worse and worse the more humanity realized their potential (something Crowley claimed credit for with Downstairs without even having to lift a finger, he was quite proud of that), but for some reason the Black Death wore Aziraphale down more than usual. Maybe, he thought, it was because he went into it already feeling exhausted and like his bones were practically about to fall apart. Maybe it was because he and Crowley had been having to spend less and less time together -- with both of their sides looming down on them more and more recently. Maybe it was because the ache in his chest had steadily turned into a sharp, stinging pain over the last few years. Maybe it was a lot of things. 

“Angel...”

Aziraphale startled into awareness, not having realized he’d dozed off in the first place. Dawn light was trickling through the stained glass windows. A hand was on his shoulder, and he looked at it before following it up the arm and to the body it was attached to. He kept going until his eyes met the familiar reflective glasses he hadn't seen for a while.

“Crowley?” He asked blearily, his mind catching up to him. Crowley was there next to him, looking like he’d been there for quite some time trying to get his attention. 

“What are you doing here, Angel?” The demon asked quietly.

Aziraphale jolted up from his slouched position, “I could ask you the same question, this is a _church_! You can't be here!” Indeed, he looked down to see Crowley shifting from foot to foot.

“Eeh, not really a church anymore. Doesn't really count.”

“The grounds are still holy.”

“Honestly, all it is is a bit uncomfortable. Less like walking on coals and more like... walking by a fireplace that’s been going too long,” Crowley shrugged, still not taking his hand away. Aziraphale relished in the contact. “Anyway, I didn't come to a former church filled with dying humans just to bicker with you.”

“And why did you come here, exactly?” 

A look of sheepishness crossed Crowley’s face before it was gone in a flash, “I was just in the area. Heard some rumors about a ‘miraculous doctor’ who took over when the last one keeled over here. Figured I would check it out.” He was looking elsewhere, and Aziraphale followed where he guessed his line of sight was pointed. His eyes landed on the body on the bed, hand still enclosed around the Angel’s. The flies were already getting to it.

“What was his name?” Crowley’s small question rose between them.

Aziraphale stared at the colorless, frozen face, “Don't know. He was picked up off the streets, and I’ve found it makes things easier if I don't get too attached.”

“ _Attached_?!” 

The Angel closed his eyes at the affronted tone, “Yes. I got close to the first few.” _Hundred._ “Got to know them and their families. Some had children or were newly wed. Yet... yet I found the less I knew about them, the harder it was to get angry about the fact that _I can't do anything to stop this_.” His voice cracked ever so slightly near the end and he cleared his throat to try and cover it. Obviously he didn't do a good enough job, as the hand still on his shoulder gave a comforting squeeze.

He could hear Crowley sigh, “Zira... Why do you stay here?”

“I’m an Angel, Crowley. I do what I can to help.”

The demon sat on the edge of the bed, making sure not to touch the body but seemingly grateful to lift his feet from the ground, “Aziraphale, you just said yourself that you can't cure this. You’ve known this since it started _centuries_ ago, so why stick around if you know they’re going to die anyway?”

The harsh words hit Aziraphale right in the gut, though he knew Crowley didn't mean it badly, “I can help a little, at least. I can soothe their pains... Make passing a little easier. A little... quicker.”

Aziraphale felt hands prying his from the dead boy’s and opened his eyes, releasing the few tears that had threatened to spill over earlier. Crowley had lowered his glasses and was now staring at him almost pleadingly, his golden eyes practically glowing in the dim light.

“You're not the Angel of Death, Aziraphale... Being around such death and sickness is only hurting you. You need to rest.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley for a long while, blue eyes on golden, and felt his resolve slowly crumble. He knew Crowley was right, in the end he really wasn't doing much for the already doomed victims of the plague. Maybe if he hadn't felt so completely worn down, he would have resisted, would've made up more excuses to keep helping those he could, but as it was he simply bobbed his head in some semblance of a nod and let Crowley lead him out of the building. 

He didn't really pay attention to where they were going, only noting that they stuck to the shadows and Crowley seemed to be on high alert and on the lookout for something. Or someone. His brain was too muddled to really think about it too much.

Somehow they’d ended up in a dingy, old room shoved into the back of a practically abandoned hat shop. There were no windows, and as soon as Crowley shut the door he locked it six times before shoving a chair in front of it. Aziraphale’s eyes strained to see in the dim candlelight, but Crowley could apparently see just fine to catch the Angel’s confused look.

“Can't be too careful. Don't know who could be watching,” The demon grumbled, checking once more to make sure the chair wasn't going anywhere.

Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the dusty bed shoved into the corner, “You seem more paranoid than usual.”

Crowley grimaced, “A few of the Dukes have been riding my back recently. Something about not writing my reports or... _something_.”

Realization suddenly struck the Angel, “Oh, so _that's_ why you’ve been avoiding me.” That made sense, and Aziraphale felt the tight coil in his chest lessen just a little.

Crowley looked at him as if he had grown three heads, “Well, of _course_. Why else would I be?”

“Thought I did something to annoy you, actually,” Aziraphale shrugged. He blinked as Crowley was suddenly in his space, gripping his shoulders and baring his teeth.

“I would _never_ avoid you over something so... petty. So human. You’re a right bastard, Angel, I guarantee you -- your company is _much_ better whatever else there is to offer,” Crowley almost looked offended. The demon motioned for Aziraphale to move over, and once he did he climbed into the bed next to him. When he opened his arms, Aziraphale gratefully latched onto him, tiredly snuggling up to his chest and burying his face into Crowley’s collarbone. Slim arms wrapped around his frame and he felt Crowley’s nose in his hair. Aziraphale winced, knowing he probably smelled like death and decay, but the demon simply shushed him and told him to relax.

“Take a breather, Angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

* * *

In all honesty, Aziraphale hadn't meant to completely fall asleep. He’d meant to simply shut his eyes and doze for a few hours, maybe a day, before getting back up and out into the sickness. He might've even thought he’d been asleep for just a day, as he couldn't tell time in a room without windows, if it weren't for the candle having been completely burned out by the time he opened his blurry eyes. The room was stuffier than he remembered it, harder to breathe in and get his bearings.

He took a few calming breaths, taking a moment to assess what was immediately around him. He could still feel the lumpy bed beneath his hips and two lanky arms still wrapped around him. The body that those arms belonged to however...

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open (or at least, he thought they did -- there was no difference in light between closed and open) as he registered the weezing intakes of breath below his head and just how hot the body was. Crowley always ran cold, it just came with being a snake in another form. He’d lost count of all the times Crowley had come to him during the winter just to latch onto him and leech off of his angelic body heat. Or how many times he’d worn a sleepy, sluggish snake as a makeshift scarf on particularly cold outings. Never had Aziraphale felt the demon’s body run warmer than his.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered roughly, clearing his throat as he sat up. The body below him groaned in response but refused to move. 

Fed up with the complete darkness, three more candles appeared and lit themselves with a snap of his fingers. His eyes widened at the sight before him.

Crowley’s skin had gone ashen and waxy. His breathing was slightly labored as he struggled to get a breath and his eyes moved wildey under his eyelids as if he was having a nightmare. Aziraphale shook the demon, calling his name a few times to try and rouse him. He was debating whether or not to use the demon’s methods of waking him up back in Pompeii, his hand raising in preparation, before Crowley grimaced and peeled his eyes open just a crack.

“Angel? What...” His voice trailed off, sounding like he’d swallowed a handful of rocks.

Aziraphale could feel his breathing begin to quicken, his heart in his throat as he stared at his companion. He knew the signs anywhere, he’d been working with the illness’ victims since the beginning. The shortness of breath, the fever and confusion, the chills. Soon he knew he’d begin to see spots begin to spread.

He sucked in a breath, “C-crowley can... Can demons get sick?”

Crowley’s eyes focused on him hazily, “‘Course we can. Part of the misery of being a demon.”

Aziraphale nodded shakily, standing slowly so he didn't jostle Crowley around. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe this was nothing more than a cold brought on by the weather. Crowley did get those sometimes, nothing a good sleep wouldn't shake off. 

“Alright. Alright just stay there, I’ll get some supplies.”

A hand shot out with alarming speed, considering, and wrapped around his wrist. Aziraphale jerked in surprise, but Crowley’s grip was unrelenting. Behind the fever, he could see a sharp alertness in the demon’s eyes.

“Zira... Don't leave.”

He pat the hand gently, “I’m not going anywhere, my dear. I’m just going to move a table closer to the bed, is all.” Whether his words got through or Crowley forgot what he’d been doing, the hand loosened enough for Aziraphale to peel his fingers away. After moving a nearby table closer as well as a stool, Aziraphale used one of his last miracles of the month (Gabriel had given him a _limit_ , of all things), and suddenly there were the few medical supplies that he knew would help without any divine intervention.

Sitting on the stool, Aziraphale dipped a towel in a bowl of water before bringing it to Crowley’s forehead. The demon shivered at the temperature change, but Aziraphale just shushed him and took one of his hands in his free one. The Angel slowly fell back into the roll he’d been playing since the plague’s first outbreak. He’d nurse Crowley back to health in no time.

* * *

Except, ‘no time’ turned into a few weeks, and Aziraphale felt like he was about to fall apart at the seams. His worst fears had been quickly confirmed as the days went on and Crowley’s condition only worsened. A few blackened, rotten looking spots had begun to form on his skin as well, and Aziraphale felt like he could cry. Crowley was practically unresponsive at this point, not reacting at all to any of the Angel’s ministrations, useless as they were. 

Usually, Aziraphale would've distanced himself by now. There was nothing he could do anymore except let the illness run it’s course. Except, this was _Crowley_. He couldn't come in unattached, he’d been attached to him since almost the beginning of creation. And if one look at the demon’s true form told him anything, it was that this wasn't simply a problem discorporation would fix.

Aziraphale had wondered why he hadn't seen so many demons running amok lately. He could usually spot a few here and there out in the open, doing evil deeds and causing mischief where they could, but he’d come to notice that whenever there was an outbreak they all seemed to scatter like roaches. 

Seems they really went all out this time.

Aziraphale’s hands shook as he wiped the sweat and grime from Crowley’s face. He hated the feeling of complete uselessness. He’d felt like this for so long now that part of him was starting to really believe it. What was he if he couldn't do what he was truly meant to -- heal? He was almost completely out of options at this point. 

Almost.

He refused to sit back and watch the sickness kill Crowley. Refused to watch as it sunk through the demon’s ethereal form and ate him from the inside out. There was one more thing he could try before he would give up -- he didn't know if it would work or if they would both be destroyed. Though if he was honest with himself, if it failed and Crowley died, Aziraphale had no qualms about going out in a storm of fiery rage and suppressed anger. 

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale tried, gently shaking the demon’s shoulder to try and rouse him. He knew it probably wouldn't get a response, but he had to try. “My love, I’m going to try something to fix this. Something you might not enjoy. We very well could both die, but I have to try. Do you... Do you trust me?” 

He sat there, watching the unsteady rise and fall of Crowley’s chest as his wheezing breathing filled the room. It was otherwise completely silent, and Aziraphale waited for any kind of response. He was about to sigh and lean away, to try and think of another way to get some kind of consent, when a strangled whisper caught his attention. He gasped and leaned forward, practically on top of Crowley as he tried to listen.

“...st.. you... Trust.. You.”

Aziraphale could've sobbed right then and there in relief, but kept himself together.

“Good -- very good, darling. Hold on, now, you’re doing marvelous,” He leaned up to place a tender kiss on Crowley’s forehead before settling in next to him on the bed. Placing his hand on the demon’s chest, Aziraphale let out a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to be careful about this.

Reaching within himself, deep within the recesses of his twisted, crumpled soul, Aziraphale slowly began to let a bit of himself unravel. Almost immediately he felt himself begin to shake with exertion, trying to keep his entirety from exploding forth while only letting a little trickle out was taking almost everything out of him. His true form hissed and writhed, struggling to be released, but Aziraphale grimaced and beat it back down. He didn't notice the candles in the room begin to burn brighter, the flames reaching farther and farther towards the ceiling before the candles completely burnt themselves out.

The part that he did release, he let flow up and outwards, flooding his systems and practically lightning his nerves on fire. Aziraphale grit his teeth, trying not to get lost in the sensation, before letting the power and light flow through his hand and into Crowley. He could feel the demon shift immediately, trying to avoid such light and divinity even in his weakened state. Aziraphale ignored him and let his light burn through Crowley’s being, seeking out the plagues impurity and smiting it out of existence. 

It was a long and slow process, as Aziraphale didn't want to accidentally attack Crowley himself. It was hard forcing his power to differentiate between the sickness and Crowley’s demonic being, but he made it work -- letting his light mingle and twist around Crowley’s darkness. He could feel the sickness being burnt away as a familiar headache began to spread from the back of his eyes, and soon Crowley’s soul was plague free. 

He retreated slowly and sluggishly, drawing his light away and back into himself. He shoved the bit of himself that he’d let loose back into the cage with the rest, trying to ignore how it all pulsed and hissed angrily at him. He was completely wiped out, but he forced his heavy eyelids open nonetheless. Though the candles were out, something else was keeping the room completely lit up better than the candles had. 

Crowley was looking much better. His skin had regained much of it’s color and he was no longer radiating heat. Aziraphale couldn't help but sag onto the bed in relief, sucking in a shallow breath to try and ease the burning in his chest. Now it was _him_ who was shaking, not in sickness but in a struggle to keep himself from unraveling completely. He felt just as he did back in Pompeii when he let a bit of himself out to stop the building he and Crowley had been in from being destroyed. Dazed and out of it as he tried to keep his power at bay.

He didn't notice Crowley moving until two tired but very much awake golden eyes peaked out from behind his eyelids. They squinted at the rooms brightness before they adjusted and slid over to land on the Angel, widening as they did so.

Crowley opened his mouth but nothing came out at first. The demon shakily conjured a cup of water and downed it before trying again.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale closed and opened one eyelid at a time as if remembering how to blink. Which, really he kind of was. How many eyes did he have again?

“Angel you're... you're _glowing_.”

Crowley weakly turned on his side to face him, and Aziraphale struggled to remember how a mouth worked before smiling at him.

“How are you feeling?”

Crowley sputtered, “H-how am I feeling, how are _you_ feeling?! You look like a bloody firework!” A few candles in the front of the store, unbeknownst to them, lit up and burnt out almost immediately. 

Aziraphale dug his fingers into the blanket underneath them, “Just... overexerted myself.”

Crowley just looked more confused, “What did you do?”

“Healed you.”

The demons eyes widened, then distanced as if trying to remember something far away. Aziraphale felt a distant hope that somehow he’d triggered some memories from Before, as futile as he knew it was. Yet Crowley simply blinked the look away.

“I... I was.. Angel you can't _cure_ the plague, how did you...”

Aziraphale’s eyelids were getting _very_ heavy, “Did something I probably shouldn't have. Doesn't matter now, you’re alive. You’re alright.”

Crowley looked as if he desperately wanted to argue, wanted to try and figure out what _exactly_ Aziraphale did, but seemed to realize that he was fighting a losing battle. So instead, he shuffled as best he could in his weakened state and curled around the still shaking Angel. Aziraphale thought he said something then, thought he felt the brush of lips across his cheeks, but he was far too out of it by then. Against his will, he felt himself fall back into the grips of sleep, feeling Crowley do the same.

There they slept for nearly a year straight -- well after the plague had ended -- unseen and unfound by everyone except a rather put out hat shop owner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZIRA JUST TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM AAHHHHH
> 
> Next chapter will -def- be up by tomorrow, it's already been written! And I would just like to say that omg, the response to this story has been i n s a n e. I've never gotten this much people reading one of my works, and honestly I freak out every time I get a kudos or comment cause it's just so new and nice TTvTT So really, thank you everyone, I love you all!


	5. Like A Broken Dam

**Soho; 2019**

The end of the world wasn't as dramatic as all those human movies let on. Perhaps that's mostly due to the fact that the world hadn't, in fact, ended. All the humans, except for a select few, were none the wiser to the events of the last few weeks. They kept on about their days as if the M25 hadn't been a giant circle of flame, as if the lost city of Atlantis hadn't come and gone from existence, as if the Kraken hadn't started demolishing whaling ships before sinking away to slumber once more. As if a certain bookshop in Soho where a certain angel was categorizing his newly discovered children’s book collection hadn't burned completely down. 

Aziraphale sighed as be placed the last of the new books back onto the bookshelf, satisfied that a new genre courtesy of Adam had been suddenly added to his collection and content now that he had them all in _just_ the right spots around the shop. As the job was now done and with nothing else left to do, the Angel found himself drawn to the nearby window to gaze down at the streets below. People bustled about, and Aziraphale hummed contentedly. Just another day in London, he supposed. 

Feeling inclined to make a cup of cocoa, Aziraphale turned just in time to see a figure step out from behind a nearby bookshelf. The angel froze, eyes widening at the sight of Uriel of all beings.

“Uriel? W... what are you doing here?” He thought they’d had more time. He and Crowley and only just pulled off their switching stunt about three weeks ago, he thought both Heaven and Hell would be fooled longer than that. He paused that train of thought -- maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Uriel had just come down for a visit. Of course, since that was _such_ a Uriel thing to do. 

The other angel sniffed, “We’ve come to collect you, Aziraphale. Just because you're impervious to Hellfire now doesn't mean there aren't _other_ ways to punish you.”

Oh. Well then. 

He was about to reply when hands suddenly seized him from behind. He struggled out of instinct, looking behind him to the best of his abilities as he was manhandled, and saw the grinning face of Sandalphon. Oh this wasn't good. 

“Unhand me!” He huffed, trying in vain to yank his arms out of the Archangel’s grip. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Uriel only grinned, “Come along, then. Punishment awaits.”

The Angels were suddenly skyrocketing up and out of the bookshop, and Aziraphale winced at the sudden change of light as they found themselves in the bleak vastness of bureaucratic Heaven. He could see Gabriel and Michael nearby and felt his heartbeat begin to increase as Sandalphon dragged him to them. 

“Let me go!” He shouted, grimacing at the bruising grip around his arms before suddenly his wish was granted and he was thrown to the ground. A foot was planted in the middle of his back, preventing him from standing as he craned his head to look up. Gabriel crouched in front of him, one manicured eyebrow raised. 

“Hey Aziraphale!” He said with fake cheer. “How’ve you been? Great I hope. Reveling in the world not being destroyed and all that, I bet.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply and Gabriel’s hand suddenly grabbed his jaw to prevent him. What was it with angels not letting him finish sentences today? Not like he was going to stutter his way out of anything, really. 

“Look, I’m done playing around with you so I’m just going to cut to the chase. Us Angels up here have been doing some talking, and we’ve figured that since we can't kill you with the normal, conventional methods--” _Hellfire_ “-- and we can't make you Fall even though you really, _really_ deserve it--” _Only the Almighty could do that_ “-- then we figured we could still do our best to teach you a lesson. Get your wings out.”

Cold fear gripped Aziraphale, “M-my wings? Why would y--”

Gabriel’s grin rubbed Aziraphale the wrong way, “We’re clipping your wings, sunshine. Cutting off your divine supply. You love the humans so much? Well, then you get to live like one.”

Aziraphale winced as Sandalphon dug his heel into his spine, “No, no you can't, you don't understand the mistake you’re making!”

“We know _exactly_ what we’re doing*. Wings. Out. Now.”

_*They, in fact, did not.*_

The angel on the floor grunted in discomfort as he felt his two usual wings pulled forcefully from the ether, struggling to keep his other four from popping out into existence. He really should’ve just let them free, let all his angelic power free and show everyone that they’d been played for fools this whole time and that he did, in fact, out-rank them so if they could just let him go and he’d be on his way. But he didn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't let just some power hungry Archangels steal away his freedom now, not after he’d spent so long trying to keep it. 

He felt his wings be roughly grabbed and extended.

“Look at that, one of his feathers is already black! Maybe he really is Falling,” Uriel snickered, flicking the starry feather that his love had given him all those eons ago. He panicked, only just now realizing he was about to lose it.

He squirmed, “W-wait no, don't--”

He was unable to finish as instead of words, a scream ripped its way through his throat. White hot fire raced down his back, causing all his muscles to tense and his back to arch. Something was making it’s way down the base of his wings, right where the feathers met his skin, slowly slicing through meat and bone. The farther it went, the more intense the pain came, and Aziraphale found himself cut* between trying not to pass out and trying not to lose control.

_*No pun intended*_

There was a _pop_ and he suddenly felt weightless, the pain reaching a crescendo, and his vision swam dangerously. Voices tried to penetrate the ringing in his ears but even if he could hear them, he wouldn't be listening. Someone was grabbing him, his body like a doll cut from it’s strings, and in his delirious state he panicked. Fearing more ministrations to his back, Aziraphale let out a trickle of his power -- just enough to knock the others off their feet and whisk himself out of there. He was dropped unceremoniously onto a familiar floor, and only from walking across it for more than a century was he able to tell that it was the bookshop’s. He was left alone and whimpering in his shop, and his vision cleared long enough to watch a familiar black feather float down and land next to him.

His form was shaking violently, unable to move much beyond reaching forward to cradle the feather to his chest. Sure, the pain was horrendous and the second worst physical pain he’d ever experienced (first being the hole left in his chest when he’d watched his Cherub Fall, and nothing could ever really top that), but he was also having a fairly rough time keeping himself in check. With the sudden absence of one of his divine conduits, the rest of his being and power swirled and pulsed angrily from the cage he’d locked it all in eons ago, trying to escape. The power, the light, _Raphael_ screamed in him for freedom.

His form shook with restraint, his breathing labored as he focused all his remaining attention on trying to keep any from leaking out. For he knew that once any more escaped, he wouldn't be able to keep the rest back. 

* * *

Crowley was out the door and speeding down the road in the Bentley before he’d even realized something was wrong. Something deep within his soul was tugging him, shouting at him in a way that was familiar yet so foreign. He still didn't know why he thought he might know what the feeling was, why it was like an itch at the back of his head that he couldn't scratch. He grouped it with the other strange sensations and feelings that came associated with a certain angelic bookshop owner, so that’s where he was heading. Only Aziraphale made him feel these things, so something had to be wrong with his angel.

He made it to the shop in record time, driving up onto the curb and missing pedestrians by mere inches. He was up and out of the car as quickly as possible, not even registering that the car turned off by itself when he’d forgotten to do so in his haste. The sign on the shop said Closed but the doors still opened for him, slamming shut once more when he was inside and taking in the sight before him. 

There, on the floor in the middle of the room, lay his Angel. The scent of pain and something else, something familiar and _ancient_ , permeated the room and caused Crowley to shudder. Aziraphale was shaking like a leaf, breaths racking his frame as he wriggled and tensed and shoved his face farther into the floor. 

Crowley rushed forwards, any thoughts of dignity disappearing in a snap as he crouched down, “Angel, oh G-- _Aziraphale_.” His hands fluttered over the other’s frame, unsure where he could touch or if he was allowed. “What happened?!”

Aziraphale groaned, turning his head slightly to face Crowley, “N-nothing, my dear. Just a little--” He shuddered again, eyes going distant. A light in the backroom lit up and popped.

Crowley bared his teeth, “ _Nothing_ ? Aziraphale this isn't nothing, _look at yourssself_!” He still couldn't see what was wrong, there were no physical wounds to be seen. Unless... “Show me your wings.”

“W-what?” Aziraphale coughed, sucking in a dusty breath.

“ _Ssshow me your wingss_ ,” Crowley hissed, not unkindly despite the harshness of his tone. 

There were small tears suddenly streaming down Aziraphale’s face and Crowley felt his stomach drop, “I... I can't, darling. They’re gone.”

The demon couldn't believe his ears, “What do you mean they’re gone?!”

“I’m afraid the other angels thought of a better punishment. Its--its alright, though, I’ve...” Aziraphale trailed off, either losing his train of thought or unable to speak due to the spiking pain. Crowley thought that if he clenched his jaw any tighter he might break his teeth.

Swallowing back any more argument or curses that threatened to escape him, Crowley instead drew his arms around the trembling angel, “Alright, it’s alright Angel. C'mon, let's get you to your bed -- can't imagine the floor’s very comfortable. Up we go.” Aziraphale was practically dead weight in his arms as he drew them both up to their feet, but that was ok. It wasn't as if he hadn't had to carry his Angel anywhere before. So, without much preamble, Crowley bent and picked Aziraphale up like a bride, minding his back even if there wasn't any physical evidence of the missing appendages. A single black feather fell to the floor without his knowledge.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the position change, hands gripping Crowley’s jacket so tight that the demon could hear it begin to rip. A few books fell off a shelf in the far back, and a car alarm screamed from somewhere outside. Soothing words babbled from his mouth as he walked them up the stairs in the back of the bookshop and up to the barely used bedroom. With a thought, the room was no longer dusty and moth-ridden, instead becoming polished and bright. The bed was suddenly covered in the plushest, most comfortable mattress and sheets that Crowley could think up at the time, and dipped as Crowley settled Aziraphale down on it. 

He slowly coaxed the Angel to allow him to slip of his coat, shirt and vest, setting the garments aside neatly on a nearby chair. Even in such pain he knew the Angel wouldn't be happy if he let his prized coat to become a wrinkled mess. As Aziraphale continued to shake and shiver, Crowley slipped into the bathroom and gathered whatever supplies he could -- towels, bandages, a heat pack, whatever he could get his hands on. He sat everything on the bed stand and sat at the edge of the bed, lightly touching Aziraphale’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Show me, Angel.”

Aziraphale shook his head from where it was shoved into a tartan pillow, “N-no Crowley, please I...”

“Please, Aziraphale, let me help you. Just this once,” Crowley felt his heart squeeze and he refused to admit that his voice cracked at all.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale slowly cracked his eyes open again, looking up to meet Crowley’s unhidden slitted ones. “You’ve always been helping me, don't you dare think otherwise. I won't have it if you think any less of yourself.”

Crowley leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s brow, “Then let me help you now. _Please_.” Crowley would never admit to begging, except maybe right now. It seemed to do the trick, as Aziraphale blinked up at him once before letting out a deep shaky breath. His back shuddered once before two long, bloody gashes were suddenly visible. Golden icor was steadily leaking from them, threatening to stain the sheets below them. Crowley hissed in a breath before shaking his head and settling in to clean and dress them. Under his careful hands, Aziraphale’s eyes finally began drifting closed. With only a small flick of his finger and a demonic miracle, the Angel fell into a fitful sleep. 

* * *

The next few days were filled with silence and a stress that Crowley would’ve much rather slept through. As it was, however, one of the two was already sleeping and didn't show any signs of waking up anytime soon, so it was up to Crowley to stay awake and make sure nothing happened. He’d cleaned and bandaged the gaping holes in the Angel’s back to the best of his abilities, wishing he could do more than just dress the physical wounds. He knew they stretched further into the Angel’s ethereal form, but even after the six thousand years he and Aziraphale had known and trusted each other, the Angel still refused to let him see it. He never got a straightforward explanation. 

So while Aziraphale took his much needed nap, Crowley was left to his own devices. Since he refused to leave the shop, he miracled all of his plants from his flat to him and placed them all around as if they were books themselves. They seemed to enjoy the change in scenery, quite happy to be away from the cold stone of his apartment and instead sitting on a warm, much loved windowsill. 

In putting a particularly large pot of English Ivy on the sill in Aziraphale’s kitchen, he’d come across a plant that he knew for a fact wasn't his. He could hardly fathom Aziraphale keeping a plant of his own, and yet there it was sitting happily by itself in the sun streaming in through the window. It was only through his perousing of numerous gardening books that he knew the name of the plant, a Night Sky Petunia, though for some reason he had the vague feeling that he’d seen them somewhere before. Not in passing or anything, but... _actually_ seen them, held them... The memory was there, just at the edge of his reach, finally an itch he was about to scratch--

\--when suddenly there was an alarming crash from downstairs. Instantly the memory was gone once more, and Crowley shoved away his disappointment and was on high alert. He hadn't heard Aziraphale rise, he could still sense him sleeping in the next room over, so he knew it wasn't his Angel. Crowley snarled, rushing down the stairs and into the front of the shop, ready to tell the intruder to _get the fuck out, shop’s closed_ before he froze.

There, right in front of him, was a very dishevelled, very _angry_ looking Gabriel. The bookshop doors had been slammed open and still swung apart, letting in the cold London air, but Crowley was hardly focused on that. He’d never seen Gabriel look so out of sorts before. The Archangel had always carried an air of annoyingly tight perfection. His suit had always been perfectly tailored and his hair had always been perfectly put together. However, this Gabriel was anything but. His suit was wrinkled and jagged, his hair in disarray and all over the place, and his eyes were a bright blazing purple. 

“Good evening, Gabriel,” Crowley started off uncertainly, not really sure where he was supposed to go with this. “Or good morning, really, you look like you just woke up from one _Hell_ of a party. First hangover? Can't say I envy you really bu--”

“Cut the shit, demon. Where is Aziraphale?” Gabriel growled, _actually_ growled. 

Crowley blinked before his gaze hardened, hands tightening into fists, “Not here.”

Gabriel took a step forward, “I _know_ he’s here, Crowley, else why would you be?”

“Maybe I just enjoy the scenery.”

A fist suddenly connected with his cheek and Crowley felt himself shoved roughly into a bookshelf. His vision swam before he blinked the spots away, pain blossoming across his face as he registered Gabriel now inches away from him. Angelic fury blazed in the Archangel’s eyes and Crowley tensed involuntarily. He’d never seen the Angel so... wild before.

Crowley struggled to force his jaw to work, almost gagging at the taste of blood seeping into his mouth from a no doubt broken tooth, “Damn, what’s got your knickers in a twist, ey? Unsatisfied with the state you left Aziraphale in? Angry you couldn't destroy him with Hellfire and that taking his wings didn't kill him? Face it, Gabriel, you and the other bastardss have done all you can to him, ssso leave him be.” 

Crowley hissed angrily before headbutting the face so close to his, watching in satisfaction as pain flashed briefly across the Angel’s face, followed quickly by blood from his newly broken nose. His triumph was short lived, however, as he was thrown roughly to the ground across the bookshop. The wooden floor cracked and groaned at the harsh impact, and Crowley winced as pain shot up his spine and made his fingertips tingle. A large hand was wrapped around his throat before he could retaliate, and he choked and spit as his body was dragged up until his feet just barely dangled above the floor. Sure, he didn't _really_ need to breathe, not in this form or his others, but the feeling of divine fire and strength the Archangel was exerting was slowly but surely squeezing the life out of him. 

Crowley struggled with all his might to dislodge the hand, kicking outwards and clawing at the hand and even trying to transform into his snake form to escape, but nothing worked. The edges of his vision were starting to turn black and fuzzy, and Crowley felt himself begin to panic even more. He couldn't be discorporated, not now, not when he _knew_ Hell would imprison him the second he got down there. Not when the Angel was coming down the stairs, conscious and in pain and--

Hang on. The stairs? Conscious? 

Crowley could sense the Angel up and walking, slowly getting closer and closer as he most likely came to investigate all the noise they were making. He struggled even harder, cursing and blessing his Angel for his stupidity and not just staying upstairs and hiding.

Yet the demon paused in his wild wriggling when he spotted Aziraphale come into the room over Gabriel’s shoulder and his insides felt like ice. Gabriel paused as well, brows furrowing as he took in Crowley’s expression before turning around to follow his gaze. Crowley gasped as he was suddenly dropped to the floor, his legs feeling like noodles and preventing him from standing back up. Gabriel turned to fully face Aziraphale, both getting a good look at him as he stood before them, and he was... Aziraphale was...

_“Leave. Him. Alone.”_

* * *

_Aziraphale._

_It is time to wake up._

_Your days of hiding are over. It is time to return and show the world who you really are. Who_ they _really are._

_Save him, before it is too late. Wake up._

_Wake up_

* * *

Aziraphale was absolutely _glowing_ , both literally and figuratively. Bright divine light surrounded him completely, lightning up the shop in the dim evening light like a bonfire in a forest. His eyes blazed a bright, ethereal blue that was almost blinding. The air around him practically shook with angelic power and Crowley could feel the rage rolling off him in waves from his place on the ground. Something else was practically bursting at the seams, screaming to be unleashed and weak havoc. Whatever it was was large, terrifying, ancient, and familiar. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said slowly. “You have _a lot_ of explaining to do.”

Aziraphale hummed, the sound coming from what felt like miles away, “Yes... I suppose I do.” 

“That little _stunt_ you pulled in Heaven -- knocking us out and running -- won't be able to save you this time. That power wasn't yours, it couldn't have been. So we’re just going to go right back Upstairs and you’re going to explain _everything_.”

Aziraphale just snapped his fingers and the bookshop doors slammed shut behind them. Both demon and Archangel’s eyes widened. 

Gabriel looked like he was about to explode, “ _How_ in Heaven’s name are you doing this? We cut off your wings, your source of power, you shouldn't be able to do any of this!”

Aziraphale simply tutted at him, a small smile gracing his face as his head tilted slightly, “Oh, _my dear_ . _You only cut off two of them_.” 

Four mighty wings suddenly burst from Aziraphale’s back, each feather glowing a bright white-gold that almost stung Crowley’s eyes. The air around them all shifted, and it was then that Aziraphale began to unravel. His form began to distort and shift, light and smoke swirling around him. Eyes began opening across his being, hundreds and then thousands, all staring and focused on the Archangel in unconcealed fury. Arms began to appear as well as heads resembling a lion and an ox, both growling and screaming and ready to rip something into pieces. 

Only one kind of being would hold such power and features. It was something that hadn't been seen or felt in centuries, the last hazy record of one being possibly back in ancient Egypt during the time of the plagues. A being so rare and unheard of these days that many thought they had all vanished. 

A Seraph.

Crowley couldn't look away. Tears fell down his cheeks as he stared unblinkingly at Aziraphale’s otherworldly form. His entire being was howling at him, something in his head fit and ready to explode with something he didn't understand. Everything about his Angel at the moment was frighteningly familiar, he just couldn't figure out _why_ . His soul seemed to be screaming at him to think, to _remember, dammit_ , and yet he couldn't, something was preventing him from seeing it, preventing him from answering the question he’d been asking himself for almost 6000 years until he couldn't take it anymore _why couldn't he see it--_

Until, suddenly, he did. 

With a feeling like hands caressing his head and lips gracing his forehead and a distant whisper of _Remember, my child_ memories came exploding forth. Memories of clouds and light and love. Of finding an Angel amongst a million plants and life and sitting and _creating something together_ . Memories of creating the stars for them, creating them with love and intent, and being at true peace with the other half of his soul. Of Falling, of trying to be caught and pushing the other away in fear that they would both burn, of giving up a feather in exchange for another in hopes that they would return. _I’ll come find you, after this. I promise you, my angel, I will._

“Who is this?!” Gabriel shouted over the screaming air. His wings had materialized and were curled around him in a shield. All the windows in the shop whined and shattered, and when Aziraphale spoke, the lights all flickered and popped at the sound of multiple voices from multiple mouths. He spread all of his arms out.

“ **_You know of me, Archangel Gabriel. Yet you know me by another name. I am the Angel of the Eastern Gate of Eden, wielder of the flaming sword, giver of plants and life, fourth of the seven Seraphim. I sang Her praises and her Word in the Before, and interpreted Her Will into the grace of healing._ **”

“No... You're not.. You can't be--”

“ _Raphael_ ,” Crowley croaked, tears now fully streaming down his face in realization. And yet, everything was suddenly making _so_ much sense. Why he’d always felt a connection with Aziraphale, why he’d always, somehow, knew where he was at all times no matter what. Of why he could tell his emotions and feelings without even having to lift a demonic finger. Of why his memory of the Before seemed so blotchy and previously disorganized. 

But Aziraphale wasn't finished. 

“ **_And you, Archangel, will leave this place. The Almighty is not pleased with you as of late, and it is time for you to answer for your insubordination._ **”

Gabriel was practically trembling, “Wait, hey, no you can't do this!! I’ve been _nothing_ but loyal to the Almighty, you’re lying!”

“ **_Speak your words with Her, Archangel._ **”

Gabriel lunged forward, as if to attack, “ **_NO!_ **” Yet his form was gone in a flash of light as Aziraphale snapped his many fingers. 

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley gasped, his throat still burning and limbs still weak. All those eyes, all those terrible, frightening, _beautiful_ eyes were turned on him now and Crowley felt his being waver. The power and presence all around him was overwhelming, and his demonic essence was practically screaming at it all, not to mention how his head was spinning at all the new memories he’d just acquired. He thought for sure he was going to discorporate before the light was suddenly receding and he found he could breathe again. The pain in his throat was also fading, he realized in surprise, and just like that, it was all gone. 

The air was silent once more except for the city noises outside that filtered in through all the shattered windows. The bookshop was thrown into the afternoon dimness, all the lights in the building having been burnt out (and by the obvious darkness in the buildings next to them, the same could be said for the whole block) and almost every car alarm down the street was going off. 

Hands were cradling his face and Crowley slowly opened his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them. Aziraphale was kneeling before him, face full of horror and eyes swimming with unshed tears. He looked as he did for the last six millennia, perfectly human and soft, without the thousands of eyes, heads, arms, and mouths he’d been sporting just minutes ago. The only difference now were the two extra sets of wings sprouting from his back. 

His mouth was moving frantically, and Crowley only just noticed he’d been saying something to him. He willed his ears to stop ringing, slowly fading back into the conversation. 

“--owley, _please darling_ , say something. Please, I can't bear the thought of you being... I love you too much to be the one who... _Please, I love you_... If you had...”

Crowley swallowed and shakily lifted a hand to lay over one of the ones around his face, “ _Angel_.”

A wet smile spread across Aziraphale’s relieved face, “Oh, Crowley, you’re alright.”

“F-fortunately,” The demon struggled to a sitting position, wavering slightly only to be steadied by the hands now on his shoulders. 

Aziraphale sniffed, “So sorry you had to see all of that. Not very sporting, I’d believe, I nearly killed you.”

Crowley brushed him off, looking down, “It’ll take a lot more than that to kill me, Angel, give me at least some credit. Besides, it’s nothing I haven't seen before. Your true form wasn't terrifying _then_ , certainly isn't terrifying _now_.”

The silence and sudden tenseness of Aziraphale’s body caused Crowley to look up once more, and the raw hope and fear on his Angel’s face caused his own heart to nearly break in half.

“C-crowley, you... Do you...”

“Yeah,” He said shakily, his own eyes beginning to fill with tears as he lifted a hand to run his fingers over Aziraphale’s cheek. “I remember.” That was all it took to turn Aziraphale into a crying, blubbering mess, and Crowley couldn't help but follow suit -- though in a much more dignified manner. He crashed into Aziraphale’s chest, wrapping his arms around his back and feeling the Angel do the same with him as they both cried. He rubbed soothing circles into Aziraphale’s back as the Angel sobbed into his shoulder. “ _I told you I’d find you. I promised_.”

“You did, my dear, you did come back. You just didn't know it or why,” Aziraphale sniffed, grip tightening. “Oh, I _tried_ getting you to remember, at first, I swear. I tried but nothing worked and nothing I did made anything-- I’m so sorry.” He broke down again, and Crowley’s chest tightened at the thought of Aziraphale holding all of this back for millennia. “After you Fell, I wasn't myself. The Angel I was, the Angel you knew, was nothing without you. And I came to realize that if I ever told you and you remembered, you would rebel once more and Hell would destroy you. I couldn't bear the thought.”

Crowley was shaking, “You don't need to hide any longer, Zira. Heaven and Hell’s got nothing to do with it anymore. _Be who you are_.” Aziraphale simply whimpered and buried his head further into Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley held him through it all, knew that this was Aziraphale’s way of shedding all those years of hiding and lying and sadness. By the time Aziraphale’s sobbing had died down to simple sniffs and hiccups, it was well into the next day and they’d since moved up to the bed that the Angel had been inhabiting earlier. Cradled in each other's arms, they finally found themselves at peace for the first time since before the Fall.

Crowley ran his hands through Aziraphale’s hair, placing a gentle kiss atop his head where it rested on the demon’s chest, “Would you like me to call you Raphael? Now that you’re back and I remember everything, I mean.”

He felt Aziraphale sigh deeply in content, “Up to you, my love. You gave me the name, it makes sense for you to choose to use it or not.”

“Yes but this is you, Angel, you get to decide what to be called. I’ll be happy using whatever it is you want me to.”

Aziraphale hummed quietly, running a hand up and down Crowley’s free arm before lacing their fingers together, “Then I think I should like to stick with Aziraphale, if it’s alright with you. We’re both so different from who we were back then, and I’ve lived under the guise of Aziraphale for so long that I wouldn't feel quite right going back. I’m not exactly Raphael anymore.”

Crowley held him tighter, “Perfectly fine, Angel. Anything you chose is alright with me.”

They lay in silence for some time then, perfectly happy to just bask in each other’s presence for the rest of eternity, until Aziraphale broke it with a sudden question.

“Would you like to move in together?”

The question caught Crowley off guard so much that he was stunned into silence for a bit. 

Aziraphale interpreted his silence as something else, and quickly backtracked, “O-of course, only if you’d like to. If you’d rather not, that’s perfectly alright. I understand that regaining eons of memories can be quite overwhelming and if you need space and time, you’re more than welcome to--”

“I’d love to, Zira,” He smirked as it was Aziraphale’s turn to fall quiet. A familiar question and a familiar answer rose unbidden in his mind, and he couldn't help but relate it all to the very first conversation he'd had with Aziraphale. 

_Would you... Would you like to help?_

_I'd love to._

“Come to think of it, I’ve practically moved in already. Got all my plants here and everything.”

Aziraphale lifted his head to look around the room, as if just now noticing all the plants that had taken over the space. 

“Oh... Well then... Well there’s also -- well, what I mean to say is...”

“C'mon, Angel, say what's on your mind. No more hiding, remember?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly, “I was thinking about getting away from the city. Maybe to a nice little house in the country, where it’s quiet and we could keep to ourselves. You could have your garden and I could have a small library, maybe keep some animals. There’d be a kitchen for you to cook in, if you’d like. And plenty of windows for sunbathing, I know how you enjoy it.” 

Crowley hummed, already sold on the idea completely, “Y'know, I hear South Downs is nice this time of year. Every time of year, really.” Aziraphale’s smile was blinding, but Crowley found that he was rather alright with it. 

And if anyone noticed the old building in Soho with still shattered windows and broken lights become empty suspiciously quick, they didn't say anything about it. Maybe a few of the local residents would comment on how they thought they remembered there being a bookshop there at one point, but no one would really say for sure. And if anyone were to be asked about the sudden appearance of a cottage in South Downs where there was a garden that only ever grew perfect plants and a pasture of Night Sky Petunias, they’d tell you that it’d always been there, of course. 

Not that any of it was really their business anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOO
> 
> Fun fact, this chapter was the first one written out of everything. If it seems juuuust a little off writing style wise, that's why haha. It was actually all based off a drawing I did about a week ago -- which I'll probably have finished and posted onto my deviantart within a week. Maybe. Hopefully. XDD One more chapter to go, which is really just an epilogue! I'm also thinking about making another story of lil short snippets with these two based off this fic -- small scenes that I couldnt fit into the story here but still want to write about. What do yall think?


	6. Epilogue: Auras

Anathema didn't remember much from the night she met the Angel and demon, too caught up later in the panic of losing her family’s prized book. Of course, she remembered the getting hit by a car part, remembered her head going fuzzy with pain and her surroundings lighting up before it all went away at once as if it had never happened, and remembered suddenly being in the presence of two complete strangers. The rest goes a little fuzzy after that, however if there was one thing she remembered with complete clarity, it was the two strangers’ auras.

She didn't use her ability too often -- the onslaught of colors and flashes gave her a banging headache if she looked for too long, and she figured it was a bit of an invasion of privacy; she didn't want some random person knowing what she was feeling without her permission. That didn't stop her from still looking every now and then, of course, especially if she really,  _ really _ needed to. 

So she wasn't too sure what had urged her to look into it while sitting in the back seat of the Bentley. Maybe it was the strangeness of the situation, or maybe it was the fact that she’d just been hit by a car and was still just a bit out of it. Nonetheless, she felt her eyes give the familiar twitch before the inside of the car lit up. Or... to be more correct,  _ darkened _ .

The aura from the driver was positively overwhelming. Dark red mixed with a sludgy black oozed from him like oil in water, twisting around and slithering not unlike a snake. The car was practically swimming in it as it obscured almost everything else from her vision. It sent shivers down her spine and Anathema could feel a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. She’d never seen anything like it -- sure, she’d seen some pretty dark auras before (some people were just really, inherently  _ bad _ ), but this was new. It was almost otherworldly, and if she let herself be a bit dramatic, she would describe it as, hands down,  _ demonic _ .

If she was anyone else, she might've let the fear consume her and demanded to be let out of the car right then and there, but Anathema didn't get where she was today without having one hell of a backbone. As the aura pressed down on her and tried to metaphorically eat her alive, she set her jaw and forced it back, shoving it forcefully away from herself and her seat. It recoiled, if only a little bit, as if not expecting her to resist it, before settling down once more.

A thought sprung into her head as she watched the darkness twist and curl around the seats that this might be the Beast she’d been searching for, however she quickly dismissed the thought. What she was looking for had always been described as  _ evil _ and  _ wretched _ \-- and though this particular aura was terrifying and slithery and, yes, demonic in it’s likeness, she felt that it wasn't necessarily  _ evil _ . Shoved deep into it’s recesses, she felt at least some form of goodness. It was that sensation of tainted purity that put the thought from her mind as she turned her attention to the passenger.

Anathema almost didn't notice the other stranger’s aura against the overpowering strength of the other. She probably wouldn't have seen it at all if she wasn't as experienced in the art and knew where to look. It also helped that it was such a contrasting color against the black murkiness of the other. It was so small, a tiny goldish white that glowed as much as it could against the man’s midsection. Anathema had never seen such a small, almost shy aura. It carried with it an almost claustrophobic feeling, as if it had been shoved into a box ten times too small and thrown into a corner. The sensation threatened to take Anathema’s breath away but she pushed it off as she’d done with the previous one. 

Unable to look any longer, Anathema blinked and the auras were gone. She couldn't help but stare as the two strangers murmured to themselves, snapping at each other like an old married couple would. What weird people these were, she couldn't help but wonder as she directed the driver to take a left up ahead. She told herself she would look more into it when she got home, would reread some of the many texts she owned about auras and their meanings, but it was all quickly forgotten when she realized she’d lost Agnes’ book. 

* * *

Anathema didn't actually remember the experience until a few months after the Apocadidn’t. Since that fateful day, her cottage had become a bit of a hotspot for the whole group to get together on a monthly basis. Said ‘group’ consisting of the Them (who’d started the whole thing), Newt (obviously, since he lived with her now), Shadwell and Madam Tracey on occasion, and the two otherworldly beings Aziraphale and Crowley. Not like they acted like immortal creatures who’d been around for millennia -- no, really all they acted like were polar opposites who’d decided to get married for tax reasons. Still, they loved each other. That much was obvious. 

It was currently their third ‘meet up’, and Anathema watched Crowley teach the Them how to make a slingshot from a rubber band and a piece of paper out in the yard while Aziraphale watched on from his spot on the bench; though if the book in his hands said anything it was that he wasn't doing a whole lot of ‘watching’. She’d gone inside to make everyone some tea -- a practice she was still learning and perfecting since ‘her way’ of making it just wasn't the right way according to everyone. ‘ _ Americans _ ’ they would mutter. 

“Are you sure you don't need any help?” Newt called from the porch.

“Positive. I know what I’m doing,” She grumbled back, pouring the drinks into their respective glasses and putting everything in a neat formation on the tray. Her hands flitted about everything until she was satisfied with how they looked before picking up the tray and heading out the door. She paused on the front steps to watch Pepper firing a folded piece of paper right at Wensleydale’s arm, to which he flinched and let out a particularly high pitched whine. Crowley and Pepper both snickered in unison and high fived. Anathema’s eyes were drawn to Aziraphale as the Angel called something out -- most likely a halfhearted reprimand -- before returning to his book.

The memory of the car ride sprung up quite unexpectedly in the back of her mind as she remembered the two’s bickering. With it also brought back the curiosity of the two’s auras, and it suddenly clicked as to why Crowley’s aura felt the way it did.  _ Of course _ a demon’s aura would feel like that, and it wasn't like she’d felt one before. It also wasn't like she’d looked at an Angel’s aura before either, and it made her wonder if all Angels auras were small and overshadowed. Curiosity got the better of Anathema then as she stood on the stairs, and her eyes gave a twitch before her vision changed.

The Thems’ were normal sized and regular colors like happy light blues and reds and yellows, and Adam’s was still invisible to her. Newt’s glowed a content teal beside her. Crowley’s was just as large and intimidating as last time -- if anything it was slightly bigger out in the open as opposed to the confined space of the car. It’s tendrils slunk around almost lazily, twisting and curling like multiple joyful serpents (or maybe a particularly giddy octopus?). There was something a bit...  _ lighter _ about it than the last time Anathema looked at it. It was something she couldn't really put her finger on, something that she couldn't completely explain in words, but it nonetheless made his entire being just a little less terrifying. Almost like it was happier.

Something flickered on the edge of her vision and Anathema suddenly froze. How she hadn't noticed it immediately was beyond her, but the more she focused on it the more noticeable it became. What was once Aziraphale’s small and shy aura was now a growing, blazing,  _ blinding _ mass of golden white light. It felt like lightning, like warmth and joy and all the things that made life comfortable. If she’d thought Crowley’s was large and overpowering before, it was nothing compared to what Aziraphale’s was now. It practically encompassed the whole area around them like a protective sheath, folding out and around them almost like... Like a pair of wings. 

“...ma. Anathema, are you alright?” Newt’s voice cut through the haze Anathema had fallen into and she forced herself to blink away all the colors. She could feel a migraine forming at the base of her skull and cursed herself for being so nosy. 

She cleared her throat, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine just... got lost in thought.” She wiped at her eyes, glad the tears that had gathered from being almost blinded hadn't fallen and messed up her eyeliner. There was a scuffling sound at her feet and she looked down to see Newt toeing a pile of wet broken glass with his shoe. Oh shit -- “The  _ tea _ ! G-- sorry I must’ve dropped it.”

“And a good thing too,” Aziraphale grumbled lightheartedly, turning a page in his book. “I could tell it  _ still _ wasn't made right from here.”

Anathema’s mouth worked for a moment, trying to get her brain to connect the sight she’d just seen to the soft looking man-shaped being in front of her before she shook herself, “It was made  _ just fine _ , you just have no taste.”

That finally got Aziraphale to look up, “Excuse you, I have the  _ best _ taste.”

“Yeah, if it was 1943,” Crowley piped up from the yard. The children around him giggled as Aziraphale simply blew the demon a raspberry, to which he received an equally childish, more forked tongue response. 

Newt tapped her lightly on the shoulder almost nervously, “Would you like me to help you make another batch?”

Anathema took a deep breath and set her jaw, “No. No, I’ve got this. You’ll all drink the tea I make or you’re not getting tea at all.”

She retreated back into the house and couldn't help the small smile that broke onto her face at the numerous miserable groans that followed after her. As she started boiling another pot of water, she told herself she wouldn't look at the two immortal being’s auras anymore, lest the next time she looked she’d find something different again. Her head throbbed angrily and she winced, fishing around her cabinets for some aspirin. Though, she figured, she probably just shouldn't have been snooping in the first place. Not like it was any of her business. 

A head popped around the corner of the door as she dumped a few teabags into the boiling water.

“Oh dear,  _ this _ is how you’ve been making it? No wonder it tastes like it does!”

  
“Aziraphale,  _ get out _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, sorry I got this out so late everyone! I've been busy and trying to write as Anathema just wasnt working out for me TT.TT But I did the best I could so... nyeh.
> 
> Anywho, thank you all so much for reading! I cannot begin to explain how grateful I am at the response I've gotten -- you're all such lovely people!! I do have plans for a sequel/not sequal story where I kind of write shorts based off this (scenes I wanted to write at just didnt fit in, AU's, prompts if people want, etc) as well as some fanart that I'll get to as soon as I can! 
> 
> Thank you all again, I hope yall have wonderful days ahead! :)


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